


Bond

by LeftHandersRule



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: (Temporarily), (sort of), Angst, Angst and Feels, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Arguing, Attempted Murder, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Bonding, Bruises, Brutal Murder, Canon Temporary Character Death, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Crows, Death, Dwight kills himself, Dwight needs an adult, Fear, Feels, Fights, Fog, Hallucination Mention, Hanging, Heavy Angst, Hope, Impending Death, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kidnapping, Loneliness, Meg is lowkey a bitch, Mentioned Pennywise (IT), Mind Games, Movie: Friday the 13th (1980), Movie: Zombieland (2009), Murder, Murderers, Near Death Experiences, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Panic, Panic Attacks, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Racing, Rival Relationship, Rivalry, Rules, Running, Self-Doubt, Serial Killers, Size Difference, Snow, Snow and Ice, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Survival, Survival Horror, Teamwork, Temporary Character Death, Trapped, Trauma, bear trap, hatch escape, hook death, mentioned - Freeform, stranger danger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 52,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27551200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeftHandersRule/pseuds/LeftHandersRule
Summary: Dwight Fairfield is a nobody, a loser. From the moment he was born, people found him forgettable and he's lived his life being nothing more but a shadow of everyone else. After an act of revenge at work though, his life gets turned upside down and now he must prove himself. Will he be the leader he's always wanted to be? Or will he be just another piece of meat for the Entity to consume?Warnings: Please read the tags. This story may get hard to read for some people, so read with caution!
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, yet
Comments: 57
Kudos: 56





	1. Lightweight

Dwight bit his nails as he sat in a public bus. He watched the city lights turn to blurry streaks through the window as he leaned against it. His leg was crossed and his supporting leg bounced with anxiety. Each road sign that passed made another wave of stress wash over him. He took in a shaky breath and took his eyes from the window and mentally repeated the anti-anxiety tips that he learned from a Youtube video. _‘Be in the moment,’_ he thought as his eyes darted around. He searched for colors, shapes, smells, anything to keep him out of his own head. The sweaty man sleeping beside him was certainly a smell, one strong enough to him to crinkle his nose. He sat up straighter in his seat and peered at the unfamiliar faces around. His heartbeat began to steadily slow and he could finally take in a breath that didn’t shake in his chest. 

_‘It’s gonna be okay,’_ he silently thought to himself as he rested his head against the windows glass. _‘It’s just a team building exercise… with Lazar.’_

Just Lazar’s name sent a shiver down his spine as his stomach twisted. It made a loud gurgle, causing Dwight’s face to flush and he glanced to the man beside him. Still sleeping. Come to think of it, the man has been sleeping since before Dwight got on the bus. The morbid side of him suggested that the man was dead, he was old after all, but Dwight shook the irrational thought from his mind. Dwight pulled out his phone, and checked the time. He ran his thumb over the crack on the screen, internally cursing the dude at work who shoulder checked him and made him drop his phone. His lip curled at the side as he remembered how upset Rose got at that guy. If they weren’t at work and if Rose didn’t have a kid to take care of at home, it wouldn’t surprise Dwight if she would’ve tackled the guy right then and there and demanded an apology from him. God, he missed Rose. Since Lazar fired her, he hasn’t spoken to her for weeks. Not that he hasn’t tried. God only knows how hard he’s tried to reach out to her. She won’t answer her texts or calls. Rarely she answers her emails. Dwight supposed that was fair though, Lazar put her through hell and back, and Dwight’s presence probably brings back the trauma. 

His heart jumped into his throat when the bus reached his stop. His adam's apple quivered as he stood up. He felt like a robot, body stiff and rigid. He put his hands on the seat in front of him as he squeezed past the sleeping man, cringing as he felt their knees touch. He straightened out his clothes before turning to look back at the man. Still sleeping. _'Okay, maybe he is dead.'_ Dwight shook the intrusive thought from his mind and headed to the front of the bus. Giving a quick, “thank you”, to the driver, he stepped out and saw a couple of his co-workers standing around. He approached them, hands in his hoodie pockets. As the bus groaned to a start again, one of the co-workers walked up to Dwight and shook his hand. Ah, good ol’ Greg. Always formal. 

“Hey Greg,” Dwight gripped his hand, forcing a nervous smile on his face. “Carpool still on?”

“Yeah, ‘Manda is drivin’.”

“Hi Amanda,” Dwight waved at the woman before tucking his hands back in his hoodie. 

“Hey. You ready?” She asked without looking up from her phone, her long acrylic nails clacking on the screen. 

“As I’ll ever be,” he sighed. Amanda walked to the car, and being the guy Greg is, he opened the door for her. She grinned and hopped in the front seat. Dwight thought it would be funny if Greg opened the door for him too, and was mildly disappointed when he didn’t. Of course he expected that, but Dwight was a sucker for visual gags, and that would’ve been amusing. As he opened the door and stepped inside the car, Greg already slammed his own door shut. 

“Gotta slam it bub’,” Greg told him while turning and looking at him. Dwight shifted in his seat and muttered something. Truth be told, Dwight didn’t even know what he said. He was an autopilot at the moment, brain and body acting on their own. He yanked the door shut and buckled himself up. As the car purred to a start, Dwight rubbed the back of his neck. His heart was beginning to race again. He swore he could hear Lazar already, yelling and stroking his own ego. Not like he needed it. 

“So uh,” Dwight started, but decided not to finish. He hoped they didn’t hear, but as Greg groaned in acknowledgement, Dwight cringed. “Um, do you know what the exercise is about?”

“Huh?” Greg looked back at Dwight. 

“The team building exercise, you know, with Lazar?”

“Ah,” Greg nodded, though his expression was blank. 

“Let me explain,” Amadas voice cut the air. “So you remember when Lazar went psycho?”

The image of Lazar tackling that poor man at work sent a shiver into Dwight. The drug that was snuck into Lazar's drink had caused him to go berserk and he screamed like a demon, and tried to attack everyone in sight. 

“Yeah,” Dwight tried not to whisper.

“Well, he found out someone spiked his coffee.”

Dwight’s chest was suddenly struck with a sharp pain as his eyes widened and lips lost their moisture. His heart was beating so fast it nearly vibrated. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Couldn’t figure out who did it though, because, you know, _everyone_ loves Lazar,” she snickered, and Dwight let out a chuckle of agreement. “But he went through lawsuits and shit but Anna was able to get him through it.”

“Anna?” Dwight cocked his head to the side, momentarily glancing at Greg in the passenger seat. 

“Oh right, you haven’t met her yet. She’s Rose's replacement.”

“Ah,” he sighed, mentally debating on how long it will take before Anna is replaced as well. 

“Anyways, now that he’s back, Anna was all like ‘you should connect with your employees more, they’ll respect you more’,” Amanda quoted, drawing her voice high and seductive. Then she lowered her voice to a stoic and manly one. “And Lazar was all like, ‘if mah employees don’t respect me then I will make em!’.”

“Sounds like him,” Dwight laughed. 

“Thanks, I tried my best.”

“So… this was Anna's idea?”

“Basically.”

That made Dwight feel a little better about the current situation as the conversation ended. He sat quietly in the back seat and watched Greg steal glances at Amanda. He always had a hunch the two were seeing each other privately, but this unspoken intimacy seems to prove it. He felt a little awkward, so he looked out the window again as the city lights were now few and far, and the treeline began to grow thicker and thicker. He dreaded seeing Lazar, especially on a weekend, but he’s good at pretending. Pretend like he’s having a good time, kiss his bosses ass and when the time comes, get the hell out of there. That’s what Dwight did to get through high school, same goes for his parents. He’s used to playing make believe. 

The three co-workers were now getting deep into the woods. Amanda was driving them far into the dense forestry land. Dwight pondered what kind of team building exercise Lazar had planned, especially being that it was out in the woods at night, but he didn’t want to think about it much. Eventually, a little orange light was shining at the end of the road, and as it came closer Dwight realized it was a bonfire. Were they going camping? Nobody told him to bring anything if they were. All he had was his phone, keys, wallet and the clothes on his back. There were already a handful of cars parked around, and Amanda found an open place to stop. As she turned off her car, she announced in her typical grey tone, “we’re here.”

Dwight tried not to hesitate to get out of the car, but he did. Only briefly though, because as much as he’d like to hide in the vehicle for the rest of the night, social expectations were strong and demanding. So, begrudgingly, he stepped out and straightened his hoodie. He stole a glance at Amanda and Greg. He took notice of the small nod Greg gave to her, not knowing that Dwight was watching. _'That was weird,'_ Dwight thought but tried not to dwell on. Greg was an odd guy in general, so Dwight figured that nod was just his way as a ‘thank you’ perhaps? Who knows honestly? He shook Greg out of his mind and turned his attention to the crowd. Dwight eyed the faces around the bonfire. Internally saying the names of every person he recognized. He made it through several coworkers until he got to a specific face, and felt his heart drop into his ass. 

There Lazar stood, shoulders squared and toothy grin lit up by the flames of the fire. Dwight’s stomach twisted and he reflexively swallowed. His eyes glued themselves to the grass below. As long as he acted like he was in high school again, it should be okay right? Just keep your nose down and do what your told, speak when spoken to, your opinion doesn’t matter and whatever the fuck you do, be a pushover. Just submit and be boring, so boring that they grow tired of you and try to find somebody else to pick on. Worked without fail in high school, at least for Dwight it worked. Lazar acted like a grade school bully, and Dwight had tested this method on him many times, and it never seems to fail. 

Dwight didn't know how long he stood there, like an idling sim, just waiting to be directed, but as the night went on, he was acutely aware of people stealing glances at him. Not in the ‘oh he’s so hot,’ kind of glance. Dwight knew he wasn’t much to look at, let alone memorable. No, these glances were almost… checking if he’s still there. He shook his head. Maybe he’s being paranoid. His mind must be playing tricks on him, or his anxiety is just getting the best of himself. He took one of his hoodie strings into his mouth, biting the aglet. He shifted his teeth onto the plastic, trying to distract himself, but a hand on his shoulder snapped him out of it, and made him drop the string. 

“Hey there Dwitch.”

Dwight’s stomach twisted. “Hi Lazar.”

He turned and faced his boss, who was sporting a subtle bruise on his right cheekbone. When he attacked the man in the office, the guy didn’t just lay there and take it. He landed quite a few hard hits on Lazar, one of which nearly cracked his cheekbone. Since then, Lazar had to get stitches and have an icepack on hand every day for a while. Now the stitches are gone and what's left is a small scratch and faint purple hues. As sadistic as it might make Dwight sound, he liked seeing the injury on Lazar’s face. It was like a tattoo that stated ‘I’m a dick and deserved this’. Which he definitely did after what he did to Rose, and the other employees. Dwight’s not the type to wish pain upon another person, but Lazar is the exception. 

“Enjoying the party?”

“Party?” Dwight cocked his head to the side. “I thought we were gonna do a team building exercise?”

“We are Dwitch,” Lazar grinned and wrapped an arm around Dwight. Dwight didn’t know what was worse, his boss still not knowing his name after months of working for him, or the physical contact being made. Both made him want to puke in his mouth, but instead he forced a smile and continued talking. 

“What do you mean?”

“I had the great idea to bring my employees together and do some bonding exercises. After the little incident we faced as a company, I figured it would be humble of me to try and connect with my workers.”

‘First of all, barf. Second, according to Amanda, it was Anna's idea,’ Dwight wanted to say. 

“That’s nice of you.”

“It is. Now tell me Dwitch, how are you liking the company so far?”

“It’s great,” he kept his answer short. 

“Fantastic. Why don’t you come and have a seat with me. We can have a chat.”

Before Dwight could open his mouth, he was already being dragged to a fallen log closer to the fire. He was pushed to a seated position on the log and Lazar had sat beside him. He finally removed his arm from around Dwight's shoulders, and it felt like Dwight could finally breathe. He silently watched Lazar kick back and get comfortable, and the more cozy his boss became, the more unbearable things felt for Dwight. Lazar was never this buddy-buddy with him. Why now? Was he playing a prank on him? Dwight glanced away from his boss, and noticed Amanda looking at him strangely. Does she know something that he doesn’t? If so, then what? 

“Dwitch, take off your jacket and stay awhile,” Lazar laughed, patting him on the shoulder. Dwight forced a chuckle, and reluctantly took his hoodie off. He set it on the log beside him and rubbed his thumb over the zipper a few times in an attempt to comfort himself. He listened around quietly, hearing casual conversations, but some odd hushed whispers creeping into earshot. His mind was trying to wrap around everything that was happening, but for the life of him he just couldn’t get it. It’s like he was missing something. 

“Dwitch.”

Dwight looked over to where Lazar was sitting but he wasn’t there anymore. He must’ve got up when Dwight was lost in thought. He looked forward and noticed a bottle in Lazars hands. “What’s that?”

“Moonshine, old family recipe. Care for a sip?”

“Well sir, I’m not much of a drinker,” Dwight muttered. The voices at the bonfire have grown hushed, still conversing, but much quieter. Almost like they were eavesdropping. Dwight’s heart thumped hard in his chest as Lazar sat beside him again. Dwight swore he watched him move in slow motion. 

“Nonsense,” Lazar grinned and swooshed the bottle in his hand. “My family has been making Moonshine for generations, quite the skill we have if I do say so myself. Give it a try.”

“Yeah Dwight,” a woman called. He looked over and noticed Amanda approaching. “It’s good.”

Dwight didn’t speak as he reached his hand out to accept the bottle. He hoped Lazar didn’t notice the way his fingers trembled, or how his face had paled. He wrapped his hand around the neck of the bottle and brought it close to him. It was already open, ready to be drunk. He shot a quick glance inside the bottle, watching as it swished like a wave. As he brought the bottle closer to his lips, he found that they were growing dry and chapped. He watched Lazars eyes, but most of all the smile that was growing on his face. Dwight’s heart was like thunder, and he could feel eyes on him. Why was drinking this so important? 

“You’ll like it Dwight,” Lazar muttered, and Dwight felt his heart fall out of him. 

_’Dwight. He called me Dwight. He didn’t say Dwitch, he said Dwight. Why did he say Dwight?’_ Dwight internally panicked. In that moment, as he looked into his bosses dark eyes, he knew that Lazar figured out who drugged him. He knew Lazar was taking revenge on the guy who nearly cost his job. Dwight knew Lazar discovered that he was the one who slipped the drug in his drink. For a brief moment, Dwight hoped if he just explained that he didn’t know the drug was a hallucinogenic, then maybe Lazar would take mercy on him. Maybe all Lazar would do is fire him, but Dwight was out numbered. Lazar wants him to take a sip, and if he doesn’t, he might be forced to regardless. 

His options were limited. 

Don’t take the drink, and plead for forgiveness like a bitch.  
Don’t take the drink and haul ass and hope nobody can sprint fast enough to catch him.  
Don’t take the drink and be forced to or worse. 

Or;

Take the drink and pray. 

As he fought the tears that threatened to well up in his eyes, he took a sip. 

The remainder of the night was a blur for Dwight. He could hear laughing and yelling, and the feeling of somebody's foot repeatedly slamming into his body. Mostly his stomach and chest. He’d let out cries of pain, only to be met with fists bashing into his ribs and arms. He couldn’t make out the voices he was hearing except for one; Lazar. Though what he was saying was almost incomprehensible, Dwight could make out faint words here and there. Most of the words were swears and insults. In a small attempt to protect himself, Dwight curled into a ball on the forest floor, but it didn’t stop the attack, and as the night went on, his consciousness began to fade until he saw nothing but darkness. 

He awoke to a bird cawing from above. He stirred awake causing the crow to leap from its branch and fly away. Dwight peeled his eyes open and was immediately struck with pain. He clutched his stomach and curled further into a ball, sobbing to himself. He didn’t know how long he laid there, just crying and choking on his own saliva and snot. The pain was unbearable. It hurt to move, it hurt to breathe, it hurt to see. Everything hurt. He just laid still in the fetal position, praying the pain would subside. He could’ve been laying there for hours as a morning drizzle began to sprinkle down on him. As much as he normally loathed being caught in the rain, it surprisingly eased the pain. He finally opened his eyes and slowly whipped the tears from them. His movements were hesitant and shallow, not wanting to hurt himself more. He looked around at the blurry environment, and choked out another sob when he realized he wasn’t wearing his glasses. 

Sitting up was a challenge, but eventually he got there. His groin ached, and he knew just from the still present pain that he was kicked there multiple times, as with his stomach and chest. He was thankful though that he didn’t hear any voices anymore. As much as he hated being alone sometimes, he was so happy to finally have the attack over and done with. He patted the ground, reaching every direction until he found his glasses, and when he slipped them on he could finally see, and nearly began crying again when they weren’t smashed or broken. Dwight schooched back until his spine met with the log he sat on the night before. He looked down at his stomach and crotch, and knew he had to check the damage. At a snail's pace, he unfastened his tie and opened his button up shirt that he had worn under his hoodie. The more of his skin he saw, the more purple, black and green hues decorated his skin. When he got down to his waistline, he took in a trembling breath and undid his belt and pants. Pulling everything down ever so slightly, he eyed the damage. Thankfully it didn’t look as bad as it felt, and for that he sighed. It was a struggle putting everything back on, but he managed.

He reached into his pant pocket and pulled out his cell phone. _’No service,‘_ he noticed. Just before he tucked it away, he remembered that 911 usually works even without cell service. He had half the mind to call them and ask for help, but he shook his head. _’The Police shouldn’t waste their time on a guy like me’_ he thought. _’They’ve got more important stuff to do’_. With that, he pushed his phone back into his pocket and carefully rose to his feet. His legs faltered, but he steadied himself on the log. His hoodie remained on the wood, but he decided on going to the bathroom before grabbing it. His eyes darted around just to make sure he was completely alone, and when he confirmed it he just faced a direction and untucked himself from his work pants. As he relieved himself, he wished he didn’t notice the red in his urine. _’Definitely some internal bleeding.’_ His head pounded. He assumed it was from whatever Lazar had slipped him, or did to him. He found it hard to remain upright as his stream seemed neverending. Soon enough though, he finished and put himself away. 

His body was sluggish, and again, Dwight wasn’t sure if it was because of the drug or the beating he received. Truth be told it was most likely both. Grabbing his hoodie, Dwight looked at where the tire tracks led and began the sluggish process of walking back to the city. Despite the rain coming down rather hard at this point, Dwight didn’t feel like putting the hoodie on quite yet. He was just in too much pain to bother with it. Hopefully he could just catch hypothermia and die already. He’s only half joking at that. Despite the cold rain though, he didn’t really mind it. It beats hitchhiking. He’d heard way too many horror stories with women getting into cars only to find some psycho like Ted Bundy driving, or young men getting picked up by the killer clown John Wayne Gacy himself. Dwight would rather walk til his feet bled instead of getting in a car with a mental person. Call him paranoid, but his anxiety told him if he got in a car with a stranger he had a 97% chance of being found cut up in the river two weeks later. 

He didn’t know how long he walked for, a limp in every other step. Half the time he didn’t even realize he was still letting tears drip down his cheeks. God, he should’ve listened to his coworkers. He should’ve never given Lazar that drug. He wouldn’t have if he had known the guy from Peak22 lied! Max, that fucker. If Dwight was a fighting type of guy, he’d punch him square in the nose for what he’s done, but the empathetic side of him was more rational than that. Max probably has family to take care of. He used to work along side Dwight as a stupid Story-Hook writer, but left not long after becoming acquainted with Dwight. He knew enough to know that Dwight wasn’t a social guy. He wasn’t in a relationship, he didn’t really have any friends other than Rose who was now ghosting him. As for family, they don’t talk much anymore. As fucked up as it is, Dwight couldn’t blame Max for letting Dwight take the fall. After all, he’s a nobody, and Lazar needed to be punished. 

The sound of breathing made Dwight stop in his tracks. His head practically twisted 180 degrees. His eyes flicked to every bush and tree as the breathing filled his eardrums. It was quiet, but so loud at the same time. A fog was rolling in and he nearly jumped a foot in the air when a crow cawed at him from above. He shot a worried glare at it, and noticed several eyes staring back at him. There had to be at least seventeen crows around him. The rain was now pouring, his hair flat on his head and glued to his forehead. The breathing always seemed to be just one notch louder than the rain pounding down on him, and he clasped his hands over his ears in an attempt to silence it. The breathing didn't stop, nor did it quiet down. It sounded like the breathing was coming from his ears themselves. Before he knew it, he couldn’t even hear the rain as the birds began to caw and scream. The fog grew thicker and darker until he could hardly see, and in a brief moment of panic, he screamed a single word out to the sky in a hope somebody would hear; 

“Help!”

And that was the last anyone ever saw of Dwight Fairfield.


	2. Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwight wakes up at a familiar camp fire, yet, when he starts to notice things aren't quite what they should be, and as the panic sets in, things go from bad, to worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Moving forward this fic will contain gore and death and probably other things. If you are sensitive to these subjects, please look out for yourself and don't read. It won't hurt my feelings if you pass up reading this. I want you all to be safe out there and read what you can handle. I don't know where this fic will go so I want to give this warning now rather than later.

A sound broke the silence. Though, it didn’t sound like anything from Earth. It was deep, and dark like the farthest reaches and trenches of the oceans. In contrast however, it was also high and soft, like the clouds and stars above, just sitting outside heavens gates. Though it sounded natural, it couldn’t sound less so. It was like everything and nothing all at once. It whispered, but it rumbled, and it spoke out one sentence; 

**_”Wake up Dwight.”_ **

Dwight jolted awake, his heart racing and body shaking. It felt like he had just watched a horrifying movie, or had a terrible nightmare. His head was resting on a fallen log, and he sat up and looked around. His brows furrowed in confusion as he looked at the forestry around him. He eyed his surroundings, and tried to spot anything familiar, but nothing seemed quite right. He felt dizzy trying to remember the events that landed him here. A car… Amanda… Lazar. That name sent ice into his veins. Lazar. That’s all it took for Dwight to remember the fear he felt. The setup he endured. Lazar knew that Dwight drugged him, someone must’ve snitched, and he took revenge. Dwight vaguely remembered drinking the moonshine, but after that, his memories were just a blur. A few hazy bits and pieces here and there, but they were mostly faint touches of pain and screaming. Lazar's voice was plastered over it all. 

Dwight quickly lifted his button up shirt, eyeing his stomach, but almost puked when he saw no bruises. Not because the sight of it was too horrific to bear, no. There was nothing. No bruises and not a single scratch on his pale belly. He quickly unbuttoned and forced his pants down to check his groin, and even that was clear of purple and green hues. He fixed his clothes, heart racing in his chest. Did he dream of the attack? No, he remembers waking up. He remembers pissing blood and sobbing to himself. He remembers the morning rain and picking up his hoodie from the log. The memories were there, and yet, no bruises. Dwight looked around for his hoodie, but it was nowhere in sight. He looked up to the sky, and saw that it was shrouded in dark clouds. Night? Wasn’t it just morning? It couldn’t be night already, he had just woken up! Did he dream that? 

Dwight looked to the fire that was burning by his feet, and a chill went down his spine. This wasn’t the same fire, not even close. It was about a third of the bonfire size. Dwight rolled onto his hands and knees, looking at the logs around him. There were two logs. He couldn’t quite remember how many there were at the bonfire, but he knew there were more than two. Enough for everyone at the bonfire to sit. Something was wrong, so terribly wrong. He staggered to his feet, his head spinning and his heart stuttering in his chest. The surrounding forest was similar, but the trees were thinner, more dead looking, and had fewer gaps between trees. The forest he was in last morning… night or whenever, had massive oak trees and thick bushes between the gaps. Dwight could hardly tell what kind of trees these were. There was oddly nothing distinguishing about them. Granted, he was no botanist, but he knew a thing or two just from living with a dad who just _had_ to know what all the trees around were. Dwight nearly wheezed trying to catch his breath. This was wrong, all wrong. 

Dwight pulled his hair with his hands, his heart now slamming painfully in his chest. He has no clue where he is. The land he’s on right now looks like a painful attempt at the forest he was previously in. Like someone tried to make a copy, but the printer ran out of ink halfway through and they just fudged it and called it a day. It had the basic gist of everything, but not enough. Had he been kidnapped? Was he hallucinating? Did Lazar drug him with something longer lasting? Dwight didn’t feel drugged anymore, but how could he know for sure? Did he ever get attacked in the first place? If he did, where are the marks to prove it? Was he still dreaming? If not, how long was he out for? There were so many questions swirling around in his head, he felt nauseous. There had to be a reason, an explanation. He had been beaten and drugged, and now he is sober with not a trace of a wound. He was in a massive oak forest, now he’s in a forest that looks low-key inspired by Tim Burton. It was then that Dwight remembered the crows and the fog. He remembered that loud breathing and that sinking feeling in his chest. 

“Hello!?” Dwight called out into the air. He doubted anyone would hear, and doubted even more if someone would actually bother to help him, but he had to try. “Please help me!”

When nothing called back, he wasn’t shocked at all, but the pit in his stomach grew. “Please help! My name is Dwight, and I need help!”

The silence was so loud, and Dwight’s bottom lip quivered. He can’t cry like a baby right now, now’s not the time. He has to figure out how he can get out of this mess, wherever he is. He’s lost and he needs to figure out how to get home. Once he’s home, quitting his job is the first thing on his agenda. However, he’s never gotten paid so much for doing so little, it’s a shame he had to work for someone so shitty in the first place. As much as he hated to admit it, keeping his mouth shut and his eyes down and getting paid for it was nice. It was like a less painful high school experience, but this time with money being put on the table. Although he figured he deserved everything he had coming. He should've been a man and just stood up to Lazar like a normal person, but then he had to be a coward about it, like always. He’s fucked up so bad. Dwight whipped a stray tear from his check and sniffled. 

“I need help,” he whispered to himself, before remembering his phone. Relief blossomed in his chest. The police surely would come to rescue a missing person, right? This was an emergency, right? Dwight plunged his hands into his front pockets. He twisted his wrists and ran his fingers inside the fabric, but his pockets were empty. A massive, crushing wave of anxiety hit him and tears poured from his eyes. This is wrong! So wrong! His hands snapped out from his front pockets and dived into his back ones, but there was nothing in those either. No phone, wallet or keys. He had nothing, not even his hoodie. His chest felt like it was getting punched over and over again with how hard his heart was slamming into him. His arms were trembling and his breathing was loud and hard. He slapped himself in the sides of his head and yanked his hair. _‘Stop being a bitch,’_ he told himself. _’Stop being a bitch! Stop! Stop! I’m fine, I’m fine! I’m okay, I’ll be fine!’_ He was trying to stop his heart from beating so hard, but he knew that things were not okay, and the uncertainty for the events to follow were killing him. 

He could die out here, he’s never survived in the wilderness before! He only went camping a few times as a kid with his parents. He could count his camping experiences on one hand, and he was so young when those happened. He hardly remembered anything from then, other than playing in the lake and eating s’mores. He’s never even fished, let alone hunted before! He wouldn’t even know where to begin if it came down to looking for edible plants. He’s a city guy, not some country boy! Even if he did know how to do all of those things, he doesn’t even know if there's a lake nearby and he knows there aren't weapons he could use to take down a deer or something. He’d certainly starve to death if he didn’t find a way back home. Dwight looked around and noticed several paths to choose from. _’There has to be a road. Somewhere.’_ As much as he hates the thought of hitchhiking, it's better than waiting around while panic grows in his chest. 

So, he picked a direction and set off. The forest he was in was odd. It felt like a dream, or a really atmospheric nightmare. Every tree stood tall above like any normal tree, but the color, the texture, it wasn’t… normal. The trees still had harsh bark covering the trunk, but everything looked faintly charred. It was like there was a fire long ago, and you could barely spot the remnants of it on a few trees. The ground as well, was different, darker. Instead of a rich, bright green grass, everything was deep, and almost brown looking. Dead looking. The dirt had next to no pigment either. Just a shadow under the grass and trees. It almost looked like a painting rather than an actual image of a forest, and Dwight gnawed at his fingertips. The longer he walked, the more details he tried to take in, but everything looked the same. He supposed that would be normal for a forest, but this one wasn’t right. 

After what felt like thirty minutes of walking in a straight line, Dwight saw light up ahead. Hope flooded inside his chest and he sprinted forward, dashing through the dead looking brush, ready to see the source of the light. However, when he finally dashed out into the open clearing, he felt like puking to find the fire he left behind. The same two logs, same burning flames. His heart was beating like an angry drum. 

“This is impossible,” he mouthed, his voice just barely coming out. We walked straight! He didn’t turn, there was no way he came back to this place. He noticed that he was right across from where he left, as if he walked perfectly in a circle. He snapped his head in another direction and dashed away. He lept over shrubbery and weeds, rocks and fallen branches. This was impossible, crazy. This was just a bad dream! A nightmare! This can’t be happening, this isn’t happening! Unfortunately, as Dwight saw another light up ahead, and when he tripped into the clearing, he found himself right back at the campfire. Dwight slumped down to his knees, lungs aching. There was so much confusion and fear inside, and he had no clue what to do. His tear ducts burned but he fought it back. Maybe he was just overreacting, maybe he was just dreaming and has yet to wake. That’s what told himself until a fog began to roll in. 

The second he spotted the fog his fight or flight instinct kicked in and he was on his feet in seconds. His eyes glued to the fog as it twisted and curved. It seemed almost alive, lucid. It crept to Dwight like a spider crawling along the floor, and before he could make a decision, his body made it for him and broke into a sprint. He ran as fast as he could, and when he looked over his shoulder, he nearly choked on his own spit. The fog was still right behind him, nearly tickling at his heels. How!? Was it sentient? Dwight ran, but the fog seemed to move faster, and he sore he could feel wrapping around his ankles, creeping up his knees and slithering up his thighs before gripping his sides. He couldn’t even scream this time before his body felt like it didn’t exist anymore. It was like his spirit was floating, and he couldn’t see a damn thing, and soon, everything faided to black. 

**_”The Macmillan Estate; Iron Works of Misery.”_ **

Dwight gasped when he could finally see again. The fog vanished as quickly as it came, and Dwight patted himself down to check for any pain. When he established he was fine, he looked around and let out a startled sound when he saw he wasn’t where he was before. It was still night, but he wasn’t in the woods anymore, not quite anyways. There were boulders and trees scattered about, but it wasn’t as thick as the campfire. The most notable thing however, was the massive building right in front of him in the distance. It stood tall and intimidating, and extremely unsettling. It was an ominous sight, and again, Dwight couldn’t help but compare it to a bad dream. It looked like it would be right at home in some sort of horror movie, but the hope bubbling inside his chest was hard to ignore. He was so confused with everything going on, but inside this building could have answers, or more importantly, someone to help him. 

However, he was skeptical. After all, this could be an extremely elaborate prank Lazar was pulling on him. How? Dwight had no clue, but he wouldn’t put it past his boss. If this wasn’t a prank, then it was a possibility that the drug Lazar slipped him was an extreme hallucinogenic, something that could make his sobriety fade in and out. That would explain why he thought the fog was alive, or that strange voice he keeps hearing. Maybe his boss didn’t even attack him and he didn’t piss blood, it could’ve been one huge glitch of his psyche. If Lazar isn’t behind this, and he is in a completely different place, there were really only two options left. The first being that Dwight, high off of the drug, could’ve stumbled and found some abandoned building. The second option was much more stress inducing. He could’ve been kidnapped, and that building would be his final destination. Dwight wasn’t really sure what was more likely. 

But he didn’t exactly have much of a choice other than to inspect the building. 

He started approaching the massive building, his heartbeat catching in his chest. He gnawed at his fingernails as he crept closer. When he could finally peek inside, that's just what he did. He set his free hand on the open doorway, while his teeth bit at his fingers. He quickly pushed his glasses back up his nose and flicked his eyes around. Timidly, he stepped inside. The cement floor felt better than the rough dirt outside, it was easier on his feet, which were aching from all the running around before. Inside the building, it was almost bigger than it looked on the outside. The ceiling went up forever, a staircase creeping up along the walls. Big pipes and metal machinery seemed to be the main attraction, and Dwight couldn’t pretend that he knew what a fraction of the stuff did. He walked forward, his hand finding the staircase railing, though he didn’t step up. It felt better to hold onto something as his eyes darted around. The building groaned with the wind, but other than that, there was no sound other than his breathing. Finally, he broke the silence. 

“Hello!?”

His voice echoed back at him several times, before everything fell quiet once again. He let out a sigh, debating on giving up, but there had to be someone here. Anyone. Someone has to hear him and they must know where he is. Dwight straightened up and furrowed his brows. He cleared his throat and cupped his hands together near his mouth to form a tunnel. He needs to keep trying. He took in a deep breath, and with all the power in his chest, he shouted out; “HELLO!?”

That time his voice seemed to echo forever, bouncing off every bit of metal and wall it could. He heard his own voice more times than he could count before it finally fell quiet again. He muttered a quiet “damn it,” before turning to leave, but that’s when he froze. Not because he saw something, not because he heard something, but because he _felt_ something. What did he feel? He didn’t know, but something stopped him in his tracks and the hair on the back of his neck stood to attention. Like a dog, his ears perked up and strained to hear every sound. Even the blonde hair on his arms stood tall. Dwight was still as a statue as he listened, but he didn’t know what he was trying to hear. Perhaps his subconscious picked up on something he didn’t, because in that moment, he didn’t feel like he was alone, and he was quickly coming to the conclusion that being alone was probably for the better. 

Suddenly he snapped his head to a doorway to his right. Nothing had indicated a presence there, but it was as if an invisible fist punched him and forced his head to look that way, and when he did, the acid in his stomach bubbled. A man stood before him, though from his sheer size alone, he didn’t seem to be a man. He must’ve been at least seven feet tall, because even from the distance, he towered above Dwight. His physical stature was also a sight to behold. His chest was like a barrel, large and unmovable, at least it looked like it. Massive arms and strong legs, he was built like a beast. The stranger wore leather overalls, with no shirt underneath. Dwight could see the cuts and marks in the man’s flesh, deep gashes that looked a step or two from becoming infected. Speaking of his skin, it was a mess of black and brown shades, almost as if he was charred like the trees Dwight had seen, burned. 

The longer Dwight looked at him, the more details he took in. His boots were shy of distinct features other than being work boots. They seemed to be made of rubber and mud was caked on the sides of them. Poking out from the man's skin were giant metal sticks and pikes, as if he was a human pincushion. On each cut and metal pike, there was dried blood in its path. Dwight swallowed thickly and looked at the man's face. Something was wrong with it. It was white, not dark like the rest of his skin, and the shapes didn’t seem human. It took longer than Dwight would like to admit to realize, he wasn’t looking at the strangers face. He was looking at the strangers mask. Small eye holes and a large, toothy grin plastered on it. It was a terrifying sight, especially on this massive figure before him, but the thing that chilled Dwight to the core, wasn’t the mask or the injuries on him. No. It was the machete he carried in his hand. 

Dwight wanted to run. He wanted to sprint away and never look back, but he couldn’t move. All the fear went straight to his legs, but it froze them stiff. His eyes were locked onto the machete, only to flicker up to meet with the eye holes of the mask. Despite wanting to flee, he thought that maybe he was overreacting. Maybe this man was in an accident and was just as confused and disoriented as he was. Perhaps he would be of help and wasn’t as scary as he seems. With that prayer in mind, Dwight darted his tongue over his dry lips and started to speak. 

“H-hello. M… my name is D-Dwight.” He tried to be friendly, but even he could see the terror on his face in his mind's eye. “I’m… I’m sorry to bother you, but I-I’m lost and need to go home. Do you have a phone I could u-use?”

Not a word was said back to him, but the man was responsive. Not in the way Dwight expected though. The stranger's shoulders went up and down as his chest heaved. He was panting, inhaling and exhaling deeply. It was as if he was out of breath, or preparing for something, and that thought made a cold sweat drip down Dwight’s temple. 

“I’m so-sorry. I could leave, now, if you want,” he mumbled, but decided he wasn’t about to stick around regardless if the man wanted him to or not. “I...I’ll be going now… sorry.”

Dwight stepped back to the staircase railing, his eyes never leaving the beast. He let his hands find his way, and the second his knuckles brushed the doorway and his heel met with the grass outside, the man began to speed walk forward, right at Dwight. His long strides were making him close the distance between them quickly, his chest still growing and caving in with each heavy breath and adrenaline plummeted right into Dwight’s legs. Without another word he turned and sprinted away. His shoes struggled to find purpose in the dirt, but that didn’t stop him as the mans breathing was growing louder with each step bringing him closer. 

The game was on. 

Dwight was running for his life, his tie nearly turned all the way around and flapping with the wind. There were a few moments where the damp grass made him slip, both making him lose his balance but also giving him a short burst of speed. The heavy footsteps lit a fire under his ass. He couldn’t stop running. His eyes searched for something, anything to help him. He caught a glimpse of a rundown building with an open window like area. For that brief second, he heard the strange voice in his head; **_”Vault.”_**

That’s just what he did. He lept through the window, not missing the clack sound as the man swung his machete, barely missing Dwight and snapping it into the window. Dwight was dashing away before the man could pull the blade out from the wall, but it didn’t take long for the stranger to be right on Dwights trail once again. Dwight’s lungs were already burning, begging him for a break, but he wasn’t about to let that… that freak get him! Dwight took a sharp right turn, running into a grassy path. There were woods up ahead, and he could hide in there. Each step he took grew faster, but soon the strangers breathing was beginning to catch up. Dwight’s heart had a panic attack and his whole body screamed ‘RUN DWIGHT’. 

But one wrong step made him let out a blood curdling scream. 

Teeth clamped down on his leg, making him collapse right onto the grass below him. Pain exploded into his senses, his body seizing at it. He immediately started crying as he looked down to his leg. His leg was caught in… in a bear trap. The massive trap dug into his leg, soaking his pants with his blood. Dwight coughed in pain, tears and snot streaking down him. The pain was unfathomable. He could feel the agony all the way up into his wrists. He could hardly move, but the man was coming, the monster was coming! Dwight bent down and placed his hands on the trap, trying in vain to pull it open and yank his leg free, but it was just too strong. His attempts were futile as the monster now stood above him. Dwight cried and screamed, now trying to crawl away from him, regardless of the trap. The man hooked his fingers into the trap and yanked Dwight back, and Dwight let out another heart wrenching scream. 

“Somebody help!” He sobbed as the man pried the teeth out of Dwight's leg. The beast threw the trap to the side and grabbed Dwight by the hair, and the action forced more panicked phrases from his lips. “Help! Somebody please! He’s gonna kill me!”

The monster threw him over his shoulder, and Dwight's glasses flung off his face and crashed into the forest floor below him. He slammed his fists into the creature, kicking and screaming, begging for someone to help him. His arms would snag on the metal sticking out of the man, and that would only make him scream louder. No matter how hard he fought, the stranger seemed to not even tire from his efforts. He grabbed Dwight’s dress shirt and yanked him down his front, but before Dwight’s feet could meet with the ground, the monster's hands hooked under his armpits, and he hoisted him up higher, and something impaled him from behind, tearing the air from his lungs. When the creature let him go, he stepped back, staring at Dwight. The nerd could hardly see beyond the tears in his eyes and his blind-as-a-bat vision without his glasses, but when he looked down, he saw something jutting out of his chest. It was made of metal and curved up to the sky, like a fishhook or curved blade. Blood dripped down his chest and back and into his pants. 

Dwight gripped the metal and finally screamed, his brain finally coming back online. His legs thrashed in pain, but it only doubled it. The thing was inside, inside his rib cage. He could feel it. His breaths were frantic, panting in short, quick breaths. His lungs burned with the effort as he hyperventilated. He could feel liquid dripping inside his lungs, and he choked on the blood rising up in his throat. He sobbed and cried, and the man just watched, as if he’s never seen anything like this before. Everything hurt. Blood dripped down Dwight's lip along with the tears and snot dripping down his face. He’s dying. He could feel his consciousness drift. He didn’t want to die. He knows he’s joked about it, and hell, the thought often came up when he held rope in his hands. He’d be lying if he said he never thought about killing himself, but he never acted on it. He doesn’t have much to live for, but the little things he does have is enough! He doesn’t want to die, not yet, not like this. 

A strange sound filled the air, and Dwight winced when something crept into his peripheral vision. When he finally turned his face to look at it, he choked again in terror and pain. It was a giant insect leg, or like a spider. It was thicker than his arm, and he started to see more of them cluster around him. He shook his head, crying harder. He didn’t know what was happening, but he didn’t want to know. He just wanted to go home, he wanted to quit his job and see his cats. The legs retracted, only to plunge into his stomach, and he felt his insides pop. Almost instantly, he died, but he could still feel things as he felt like he floated up into the sky. What a shame. Dwight Fairfield died with so many questions left unanswered.

But then he jolted awake, breathing fast as he looked around. The fog melted away from his body, and when it did, he saw the campfire down by his feet. _’Was that a dream’_ , he thought, but when he looked down at his chest, he nearly vomited on the spot. His once white shirt was covered in red. Right where the metal hooked inside him is where the blood was the most prominent. He spared no second to rip his shirt open, but when he did, there was nothing. The dried blood covered his torso, but there wasn’t so much as a scratch on his chest where the metal pierced him. He spit in his hand and wiped his face with it, and sure enough, the blood he coughed up was now in his palm, revived by his saliva. He placed his hands on his face to find his glasses still safe on the bridge of his nose. The memories are there, the blood is here, but no injuries, just like the bruises he had. Suddenly Dwight didn’t think everything was a hallucination. He could still feel the phantom pain of everything in his leg and ribs. Whatever happened, did really happen, but something isn’t adding up. 

“What the fuck is happening?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope those of you who read this enjoyed it and feel free to leave a comment or two, it brightens my day. I've figured out what I want to do with the survivor/killer grouping, but I'll let you guys spectate on it for a little bit. Hopefully what I decided will please you guys! 
> 
> Anyways, thank you for reading and I hope to update soon!


	3. Rules

Dwight adjusted his glasses in thought. His fingers were already sore from biting them, but he couldn’t stop himself. There were too many questions that he needed answered. Did he really die? Was he already dead? Who was that, or better yet, _what_ was that? That thing, that beastly creature was a nightmare. Why did it hurt him? Why did it kill him and an even better question; Why was he still alive? He’s been telling himself he’s dreaming, pinching his skin and trying to wake up, but it was growing more apparent that he wasn’t in some fucked up night terror. He was living and breathing, at least he assumed, and he was conscious. He could still feel where that metal pierced him in the chest, and though there aren’t any marks left behind, the twinge of pain remained. 

As much as he wanted to figure out what was going on, deep down he knew he might never. He’s already dashed through the forest more times than he could count. He’s walked in every direction and path he could think of, and yet, they all bring him right back to where he started. The campfire. After what felt like hours of walking, he figured he should just rest and try again in the morning. It took him ages to fall asleep, but when he finally awoke, it was still dark out. He rubbed his eyes, perplexed and confused, but ultimately not surprised. If he could die and wake back up at the campfire, then how unbelievable would it be that it would still be night when he woke up. Dwight had constantly checked his watch, but the damn thing was broken or getting interfered with. Sometimes it's arms would be stiff and still, other times they'd be spinning around much too fast. 

He even debated on the idea that he may be in a coma. Lazar did beat him pretty bad, it wouldn’t be shocking if he had actually made Dwight wind up in the hospital. He had heard once, long ago, that patients who are in comas can hear and feel what's going on around them, despite being unable to do anything in response. His anxiety peaked at the thought of how much the hospital bills are going to cost, and how long it’s going to be before he could pay them off. However, he eventually ruled out that he was in a coma, because it just seemed too far fetched, though, everything here seems to be so. Like the voice… thing he’s heard a few times. Whatever it is, it doesn’t sound like a voice, but that's the best that Dwight can come up with. Even though he really didn’t have much evidence, he felt as though the voice and the fog were connected. It wasn’t until what felt like another full day, that the fog came crawling back. He tried to flee again, but it was futile as it sucked him away. 

**_“The Macmillan Estate; Groaning Storehouse”_ **

Dwight took in a heavy breath as he looked around. Sure enough, he was in a similar place like before, but this time, instead of a tall building, there was a shorter and wider one. That voice that whispered in his head said ‘Macmillan’. ‘Macmillan Estate’ to be exact. Though, Dwight didn’t even know what that voice was or how it spoke to him. Was he insane? Regardless of the reasoning, the word estate implies that it belongs to the name Macmillan. Was the monster Macmillan? Or was it on Macmillan's land? Either way, Dwight didn’t care, because he didn’t want to know. Last time he walked into a big building in the middle of the woods, he was killed. He wasn’t about to let that happen again, if it ever really happened. Instead, Dwight walked in the complete opposite direction, trying to gain as much distance between the building as he could.

He passed by several massive rocks and trees, old cinder blocks half buried in the ground. He’d walk past these machines of some sort. They were pretty tall, about the height of where his rib cage ended at his stomach. The machines had a pole sticking out from them, and a light at the top. The light was weak, and gave half hearted flickers. They were truthfully eerie for some reason and yet, he felt some odd pull towards them. Like a magnet was in his hands, something was drawing him in, making him want to touch every one he saw, but he shook that need away. The monster is here, he knows it. Last time the beast was at the building, so that’s the last place Dwight wants to go. So he had the plan to walk as far as he could, but when a massive brick wall blocked his path, he paused. 

The wall was huge, at minimum it was twice his height. The bricks went up height, and where they stopped, metal poles poking out from them began. The poles seemed to go on forever as well, but Dwight estimated they must be about 15 feet high at least. He approached the brick wall carefully. The red of the bricks was washed out, faded into a sad brown color. Plants crept up the sides of the wall and the clay of the bricks was weathered and tired. Dwight placed a timid hand on the wall, and withdrew it quickly when he felt it. It wasn’t cold. Well, it wasn’t warm either, but as the chilly night air blew in his ears, the wall was neutral in temperature. Dwight touched it again, and the best heat he could use to describe it was ‘lukewarm’. Neither hot, nor cold, but in that odd sensation between. Dwight placed both his hands on the wall, flexing his hands and gently clawing it like a cat kneading its paws in the blankets. His fingers curled, and his nails latched onto the rough and rigid bricks. He could climb this. 

And that’s just what he set out to do. 

Dwight fumbled for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to climb up a straight wall. He’s never climbed a wall before, at least not a real wall. He’s climbed curved playground walls before as a kid, but those had slots to put his hands and feet in. This wall wasn’t so kind, but Dwight didn’t have much of a choice. His spine quivered and the hair on the back of his neck stood tall. The monster was looking for him, he felt it. He didn’t know how he felt it, but something in his back said it all. So, without another self doubting thought, Dwight clawed at the wall, sinking his fingers into the clay. His nails cramped, but he ignored it, placing the tip of his shoe in a crack. He hoisted himself up, and slower than he’d like to admit, he crept up the wall like a spider. He tried his best to keep his breathing in check as he reached the end of the bricks. He clenched one of the metal poles in his hand and yanked himself up on the wall's edge. He had little room, but soon he was seated at the top. Dwight glanced down at the ground under him, and felt his head dizzy at the sight, but he turned his attention to the other side, beyond the wall. 

Fog. There was nothing but fog. Dwight slipped a shaky hand past the bars, reaching out into the grey air. His fingertips vanished in the fog. How was it so thick? He withdrew his hand and gripped the poles with both hands, before pushing his face through them to try and get a better look. He squinted, but all he saw was a musky grey color. Nothing else. He started to doubt the effectiveness of his plan. Fog has proven to be bad, but there wasn’t much of a choice. Get killed by the monster, or wander into the fog and pray for help. Dwight bit his nails as he debated. Eventually, he figured fog was a better punishment than metal in his ribs. Dwight slowly rose to his feet on the brick part of the wall. He used his hands to grip the bars to balance himself, and thankfully there were both vertical and horizontal poles in a loose grid pattern. Using the horizontal bars as a ladder, he climbed higher, choosing not to look down. One step, two steps, three and four. When he could finally sling his arm over the last pole, he hooked his armpit in it and looked into the fog. An electric feeling quivered inside him, right into his heart and lungs. The darkness was so bright, and the quiet was so loud, but the silence was beginning to fill with a shallow, angry growl. The growl wasn’t from a person or animal. It wasn’t from a machine or man made object either. The growl kind of sounded… sounded like… the voice. 

As soon as that realization struck him, large black tendrils or insect legs sprung up from the fog, the sound roaring in Dwight's ears and he was frozen stiff, eyes glued open and mouth hanging open. The black legs had swirls of red, angry and dominating. This thing was an alien, otherworldly. It lunged for Dwight, and he couldn’t help but yelp and fling back to get away from the attack, but the second his feet left the bricks, he realized his mistake. The wind blew in his hair in slow motion, his tie slowly flapping as he waited for the Earth to crash into his back. When he finally cracked into the ground, he let out a choked scream, his body pulsating in pain, and his vision going black before spinning wildly. The spider legs practically danced above, as it felt like Dwight was laying on a merry-go-round. They spun over and over again before fading away from his vision, fleeing behind the wall. The pain radiated in his back, chest and head. His lungs cramped and ached, begging for the air back that was stolen from him. Before Dwight could suck a breath between his lips, the spinning slowed and a white face stood above his head. 

Dwight shifted, slightly shaking his head side to side, never taking his eyes off the face. He bent a knee and rested his hand over his heart, feeling it gasp under his skin. When he finally got some air into his chest, the spinning fully stopped, and he noticed the face wasn’t quite right. A boot tapped his scalp, and he blinked a few times. The wide grin on the face was disconcerting, and the dark eyes were borderline inhuman, and then another tap to his head brought the realization and the memories back. The phantom pain in his leg resurfaced with the memory and a flash of pain pierced between his ribs. Dwight stopped breathing entirely, his body flinching as he looked up to the man above him. The metal jutting from his skin, the leather robe now stained with blood, Dwight's blood, and the machete resting at the killer's side, just above Dwight’s right ear. The monster found him. 

Dwight never thought he could get up from a lying position so fast, but in a blink he was on his feet and bolting through the trees. He was running so fast. He didn’t know where he was going to go, but he just needed to leave, to escape this beast. The monster was hot on his heels, breathing down his neck. The sound of Dwight’s feet hitting the ground with each step was dwarfed by the monsters clomping footsteps. Dwight just wanted to wake up. He wanted to jolt awake to find himself in bed with his cats sleeping soundly in his lap. He just wanted to go home. No more misery, please. He’s learned his lesson, he’ll never try and be brave again, but please God, just make it end! Please! 

The monster was closer now, and a sharp, piercing pain sliced into Dwight's back. He was slammed forward by the cut, and he went tumbling to the ground, his chin crashing into a rock below. The ‘clunk’ of his bone shattering made him let out a cry of pain, and he could feel wet heat dispersing from his back, just below his shoulder blades. He’s been cut, the monster cut him! Dwight, with tears rolling down his cheeks, tried to crawl away, and he could feel the beast staring down at him. It seemed to watch on forever as he tried to flee, but eventually it bet down and grabbed Dwight’s pants, hooking its fingers through his belt and hoisting him up over its shoulder. Dwight howled out in fear, kicking and sobbing, begging over and over for it to just let him go. He didn’t want the metal in his back again, he didn’t want to be pierced, but he didn’t have a say. As the metal hook jabbed inside him, he felt his ribs part for it again, and he let out a heavy scream. He flailed his legs, gripping the part of the hook that’s jutting from his chest. The monster watched, his heavy breaths could be heard from under the mask. As the spider legs rushed forward, Dwight was killed once again. 

Jolting awake back at the campfire, Dwight flung into a seated position and looked around for the beast, but when he saw he was alone, he burst into tears. He balled his hands into fists and covered his eyes, his glasses sliding up to his forehead. He choked and cried, his knees folding into his chest and body trembling. He sobbed like a child for what seemed like hours, and truth be told it probably was. He hasn't cried this hard in years, the last time was probably when he was a child or teen. He's had a lot of anxiety and panic attacks, and though the difference between them might be grey for others, his body knows the agony of both. His panic attack came in waves, thundering down on him repeatedly, and Dwight curled into a ball on the ground, facing the log to hide himself. He wanted to stop crying, but he couldn't. Each time he tried, another electric zap of distress hit him, and restarted it again. He laid there until he finally cried himself to sleep. 

When he woke up, he felt sluggish and tired. He rubbed his eyes and tucked his glasses back on the bridge of his nose. He slumped back, letting his lower back rest on the log. He could feel the dried tears remaining on his cheeks. He must’ve not been out for very long. Dwight watched the fire cackle, its light was bright but its energy was dark. Though it did give him warmth as he looked up to the night sky. The dark red and purple hues practically stormed above, but not a drop of rain pecked down. He was thankful for that, at least. His fingers slipped inside his shirt in between buttons. He grazed the skin that was once gaping open and bleeding. His once white and clean shirt was now red and sad. He shucked his tie off from around his neck and took off his shirt. He held the fabric in his hands, thumbs rubbing and testing the damage. Surprisingly enough, other than the blood there was no damage to the shirt. The backside of it was pure red. A diagonal line at the top was where the blood began and dripped down the shirt to the very bottom, but there was no cut, like it never even happened. Rubbing the ghost wound in his chest, he understood that permanency here didn’t seem to exist. 

He slipped his clothes back on. Dwight wasn’t sure what to do, there wasn’t much. He’s already tried to escape the campfire, but after hours of trying, he deemed that it wasn’t going to happen. He scratched his head, cheeks still sore from crying earlier. The fire seemed to never stop burning, but would it be harmful to search for firewood? At the very least it could help warm him more. With that half hearted hope, Dwight collected dead and fallen branches from around the area and brought them back to the fire. He sat on the log he’s seemed to imprint on and snapped some of the twigs between his hands. Once they were small enough, he weakly tossed them into the fire. It cackled and hissed, as if the wood burned the fire, but soon the flames swallowed up the twigs like they never existed at all. The flames remained the same size, and Dwight just nodded like it all made sense. 

He wished he could say he was prioritizing his time, planning more escapes and having a plan of defense, but he wasn’t. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, or didn’t want to go home, he just couldn’t think of anything else to do. Dwight always had a complicated relationship with the word “try”. He had tried a lot throughout his life. He tried to make friends, be cool, get a significant other, but it always fell through. He wasn’t a charismatic jock, no matter how badly he wanted to be. He wasn’t a chick magnet how his dad expected him to turn out. He was just… Dwight. He realized that he was _just_ Dwight when he was around sixteen, and when that realization made itself known, he quit. He decided he’d focus on work and just getting by. That’s how his life had always been and that’s how he kept it. He didn’t live, he just endured and dealt with life. With his cheek in his palm, he figured if he made it through high school, he could make it through this. A small smile broke out on his lips. He knew these two situations were incomparable, but they felt similar enough, so why not treat it that way? He was good at hiding from bullies, why not treat the monster like one? When the fog took him away again, that was his newest plan; Figure out what the bully is like, and then avoid him. 

**_“The Macmillan Estate: Suffocation Pit.”_ **

Dwight started this challenge by crouching low. The monster-bully, was attracted by noise. He was quiet enough in high school, he knows how to slip out a classroom undetected. Pretending like he was fleeing from locker room boys, Dwight crept around, sneaking through the treeline, ears and eyes open and ready for anything. He slowly tiptoed around, occasionally finding those machines again. That magnetic pull begged him to get close to them, and reluctantly, he figured he might as well see what it was. As he hesitantly circled around the machine, he traced his fingers along the edges and switches. There were an awful lot of wires, knobs and buttons. Dwight glanced up the pole, up to the weak light above. He cocked his head, and realized this must be some sort of old school generator for powering electricity. He pondered why it would be here, but then again, a machete wielding freak was also a cause for concern. As hard as it was, Dwight turned and left the generator, letting the exhausted light flicker. 

He continued to wander about, slightly aimlessly. The tall grass tickled at his pants. Suddenly a shiver went up from his tailbone to between his ears, licking a stripe up his spine. When this happened, he was in mid step, and it froze him in place. Why did he react like that? Looking down before stepping proved to be a blessing, because just inches away from his foot was an open bear trap, teeth ready to clamp down on his leg. His toes were hovering just above it, and Dwight sucked a breath between his clenched teeth. He carefully stepped back, thanking the stars that he noticed the trap before he took a step. He placed a hand on a nearby tree, and lifted his almost bitten leg. He rubbed at his calf, thinking about just how close that was, and then a movie popped into his head. Zombieland. That movie was one of his favorites, watched it nearly every week. He remembered how the character Columbus had a select set of rules for surviving in the zombie apocalypse, and that inspired Dwight to do the same with the killer. Now of course, just like Columbus, the rules may change in order and quantity, but what he’s got so far is; 

Rule 1: Stay quiet.  
Rule 2: Watch your step. 

Simple rules, but only time will tell how difficult it will be to abide by them. Modifications might have to be made. However, for now, those two rules are enough. Continuing to sneak about, Dwight kept his ears open, and a sudden branch breaking in the distance punched the air from his lungs. His head turned on a swivel, desperately trying to find where the monster is, and where to run or hide from him. There was a wall nearby, one that looked like a broken down building, and Dwight recalled vaulting through a window to get away from the man before. Dwight quickly, but extremely cautiously, fled back behind the wall, and there was another generator there. There was what seemed to be a big red wardrobe or locker resting on the wall, and a steel barrel burning with trash inside. Footsteps were now stomping louder, the sound edging closer. Dwight didn’t want to hide in such an obvious place, but what other choice does he have? He ran forward, trying to silently open the locker doors before disappearing inside its shadows and closing himself in. 

Time stood still as he held his breath inside that cramped and cold locker. He could feel a heavy mixture of stress and claustrophobia hitting him like a train, and he could feel an anxiety attack bubbling up inside. _’Don’t cry,’_ he thought and he bit the first knuckle on one of his fingers. _’Don’t cry. He’s just a bully. You’re just in high school, hiding from a bully. He doesn’t know where you are. You’re okay, calm down Dwight. You’re okay.’_ Though he knew he didn’t believe himself, the encouraging words helped soothe the wave of anxiety down. His ears perked up like a dogs, heart racing. He waited and listened, and thank God he didn’t gasp when the monster walked past his hiding spot. There were small slots in the locker where he could look outside, but the monster couldn’t look in if it tried. He watched with terrified eyes as it glanced around, tapping its machete on the generator, right across from the locker. Dwight could hear his heart pounding in his ears, the blood rushing to his face. The monster looked confused, if not a little frustrated. He watched it for what felt like ages, but then finally, _finally_ , the beastly man left. 

Dwight remained hidden for so much longer. His knees were trembling and he was just too scared to get out of the locker. It saved him. It really worked. Rock beats scissors, but locker beats killer! Still, Dwight found it hard to even breath, let alone leave his safe place. Would it be a bad idea to remain hidden here? Would the monster leave? Or would it keep searching for him until it finally found him in the closet? Dwight shivered at the thought. As badly as he wanted to stay, he knew leaving would be his safest bet. He had to come out, but coming out seemed so terrifying. He’d much rather stay hidden and safe then get killed all over again. Sucking in a thick breath of air, Dwight inched out of the locker, his feet finally stepping onto the grass. 

He looked at the generator. The monster felt a pull to it, didn’t it? It tapped at it with its blade. Perhaps there was a connection there? The monster lives on Macmillan's land, and there are generators scattered about. Was Macmillan's land out of power? If the power was restored, would the light make the monster leave, or would it anger it? Dwight fled the area, too fearful to remain close to the generator. As he continued wandering aimlessly, he spotted large wooden and metal beams sticking from the ground, sticking straight up. At the top of the beams, like a hangman's noose, was a massive hook. The painful memory stabbed into Dwight, and he clutched where it hurt. The hook was so big, no wonder the thing stabbed all the way through him. This hook was clean, no rust or blood covering it, but Dwight knew that there had to be at least one with his blood dripping down it. 

He continued on further, and a sound hummed in his ears. He ducked down, flinching hard. The sound was quiet, but so terrifying. Deep and ominous, like a dark whisper or a flat note from a singer's throat. There was an odd… an odd melody to it. As creepy as it sounded, it was almost, hauntingly calming, and nearly familiar. Like a song from a dream long ago, one that you could never place but know it by heart. Dwight peeked from behind a tree, eyes following the sound. It sounded low to the ground, and carefully he tiptoed forward, never forgetting his second rule; Watch your step. Rounding a corner, he saw another crumbled building, and the sound grew louder. A fluttering hope expanded in his chest. Hope for what? He had no clue, but something about this sound felt correct. Call him crazy, but he needed to know what it was coming from. So, now peeking his head out from the corner of the wall, Dwight looked to the ground of the building and saw a hole in the ground. No, not a grave, though that could’ve been guessed and Dwight wouldn’t be too shocked if it was the case. 

This hole was built in, like an entrance to a bunker. It was a hatch. 

Black smoke puffed out of it, the song more powerful than ever, yet still so quiet. Dwight approached the hatch and sat on his haunches beside it. He peered inside, but it was darker than the blackest night. He could see nothing inside it, like it was a black hole, and yet, Dwight wanted to jump in it. He didn’t know why. Jumping into a dark hole with a killer on the loose didn’t seem like a smart idea, but that electric pull was nearly dragging him inside it. Before he knew it he was leaning over it, hands placed on either side. The urge to leap in was so strong, stronger than the feeling he got when nearing a generator. The pull seemed like a suggestion with the generators, but with this hatch, it's much more than a simple request. It’s a demand, and Dwight was mesmerized and intrigued. He sat on his backside and dangled his feet inside the blackness. As soon as his feet vanished inside it, he was sucked into it like a vacuum. He didn’t scream though, because he wasn’t afraid. 

He lifted his hand to cover his eyes when a bright light shined into them. Not even realizing he was now walking, his eyes adjusted to the light, and when he lowered his arm, he saw the campfire, sparking at his return. He… he didn’t die? He’s back here, but he wasn’t killed. He didn’t get stabbed, or hooked, or step in a bear trap. He made it out alive! Dwight’s heart fluttered, his face lighting up at the realization. He escaped! He escaped the monster! It didn’t hurt him this time! Dwight jumped with joy, spinning in a circle once before pulling at his hair. He didn’t bleed, and he’s not in pain. He did it! That hatch let him flee! Dwight laughed, his heart racing and his hands giddy. For once high school did something good! Thinking of it like he was facing bullies really helped! Whatever that monster is, it's no match for a nerd who knows how to disappear. Dwight was so thankful he was forgettable, because this just made things a lot more clearer. As long as he stays quiet, keeps his eyes low and searches for an escape, he can achieve it, and now he knows it. His rules were also a blessing, and now he had to add a few more. 

Rule 1: Stay quiet.  
Rule 2: Watch your step  
Rule 3: Hide in lockers

And lastly the most important rule; 

Rule 4: Find the hatch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, hope you liked this chapter. It was pretty fun to write, and I cant wait to add more! There will be more survivors eventually if you're wondering! Just gotta wait for the right time to add them. Anyways, have a wonderful day/night and I'll see you in the next chapter! 
> 
> Can't wait to interact with you guys!


	4. Only Once

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Suicide

Dwight let out a scream from deep within his chest. The hook inside him burned like fire, pain dripping through him like acid. The monster stood before him, panting hard as he watched. Dwight sobbed and cried, clutching the agonizing hook with both fists, his knees flinching up into his chest. Just seconds before this, Dwight was following his rules, but he forgot about rule two; Watch your step. He stepped right into a bear trap, it's teeth latching inside his leg and clamping down with enough force to snap the bone. The killer was on him in an instant, and took him down a staircase into a basement setting with not one, but four meat hooks in the center. 

The spider creature wouldn't come and consume him either. Normally it springs out if the darkness immediately, but each excruciating second that passed felt like a year, and Dwight's lips were pulled back into a heart breaking sob. He wanted the pain to be over, it hurt so bad. The hooks hurt terribly, but this one is thicker, with a burn that feels like he rubbed hot sauce in a wound. Through his thick, glob like tears, he looked at the beast. He was in too much agony to speak, but his eyes said it all. 

The spider finally crept down and devoured him, and he was able to wake at the campfire, leg unbroken and chest solid. Though the burn remained, that horrible, acidic burn. It felt like it would never leave. Dwight wiped a few stray tears away and broke a nearby stick in his hands. He internally planned out a new rule. Walking into that shack-like building with the staircase down proved to be the worst death imaginable. That basement, that horrible basement was terrible. So now with his new rule planned and a few others following, his rule-set was simple. Though he switched the order up a little bit to make more sense to him. 

Rule 1: Stay Quiet  
Rule 2: Watch your Step  
Rule 3: Hide in Lockers  
Rule 4: Avoid the Basement  
Rule 5: Don’t get Hooked  
Rule 6: Find the Hatch

Dwight didn’t know how long he’s been gone for, if he’s been gone at all. He’s suffered through around eight of those… moments with the monster. One minute he’s safe at the campfire, the next he’s got a hook in his back. His brain kept calling them ‘Trials’ which made sense, but it’s not a word he normally thinks of. That spider creature, the voice and the fog, probably put it in his head. He figured he might as well call them that, given he doesn’t have much else to go on. So, he’s endured eight of those trials, and only one of those he’s made it out alive. That’s not a good percentage in his favor, only about a 12% or 13% chance of escape, but even still, a chance is a chance, and Dwight had to take it. After all, that beast will probably try and hook him in the basement again, and just the thought made Dwight’s shoulders tremble. 

**_“The Macmillan Estate; Shelter Woods”_ **

Dwight started this trial, same as always. Keeping low and quiet, he began his hunt for the hatch, making the conscious effort to ignore the generators he found. He took mental notes of each hook he saw. As he wandered about, he noticed he didn’t find a center building. Normally in these ‘Trial settings’ they were similar, but different. A big building would be placed near the center, Dwight knew this because the wall he tried to climb was a big shape, one with lots of edges and not many curves. Almost always, from any point of the wall, you could see the center building, at least just slightly. There was the coal tower, the store house, the iron works, the… actually Dwight didn’t know what kind of building the “suffocation pit” was supposed to be, but the name is enough to tell him he doesn’t want to know. However, in this place, there wasn’t one of those large buildings. Instead there just stood a tree like any other, but this one was larger. Dwight had inspected it a little, but there wasn’t much to look at with the hope of survival in mind. 

Dwight continued to tiptoe about, eyes carefully glued to the ground before he took a step. He was moving rather slowly, but slow is better than dead. He was probably wandering about for what felt like thirty minutes before he could hear the clomping of dangerous footsteps. _'Rule 3! Rule 3!!!'_ Dwight let out a panicked thought. Quickly spotting a locker, he silently hurried inside and shut the door. He peeked through the metal slots and waited. Soon the killer stomped past, walking straight for a generator. He walked around it in a circle, before scratching the back of his bald head. He seemed confused. Like he was expecting something. Dwight watched on with furrowed brows as the monster stopped off, seemingly in the direction of another generator. Okay, now there was definitely a connection there. The monster patrols those machines. Dwight didn’t know the reason, but he figured it couldn’t be in his favor. It took a lot of strength to muster up the nerve to step outside the locker, but when he did, he was back to his own little patrol. 

After about five minutes, Dwight could hear that song from before. Hope blossomed inside his chest like a flower, and he glanced around excitedly. In a nearly open patch of rocks and trees, sitting right beside a generator, was the hatch. It’s top was open and the black smoke steamed out of it. Dwight nearly broke into a sprint for it, but when his eyes spotted the figure standing beside it, he nearly choked on his saliva. The monster… it found it! The beastly man stood towering above the hatch, with the toes of his boots on the edge of it. He was looking down into its darkness. Dwight watched on in horror, but he just… stood there. Breathing heavily and watching it smolder. Dwight hid behind a rock in the distance as he watched. Dwight actually hasn’t been able to simply watch the killer from afar before. He usually only gets to see him when he’s chasing him down with the intent to kill. Now, however, Dwight can see the burnt skin covering his body. He can see so many cuts and injuries sunk into his skin. It’s a mystery to Dwight how the man can find it in him to walk, let alone hoist Dwight, a fully grown man, over his shoulder with one arm. 

Dwight isn’t a small guy, but he isn’t a large guy. He just thinks he’s about average. Average height, and as of weight, depends on what year you catch him at. Weight has always been a challenge for him. When he was very young, he was too skinny, around fifth grade, he was too chubby. Middle school, still too chubby. When highschool came around he was too skinny, senior year he was borderline anorexic. Now however, as an adult, he likes to think he’s finally figured out the balance between stress eating and stress starving. His doctor doesn’t seem to have a problem with his weight, so he’d say nowadays he's about average in that sense too. This monster man standing before him though, was a beast in every sense of the word. His arms were probably as thick as Dwight’s thighs, all well defined with muscles you couldn’t miss. When he carried Dwight he hoisted him up like a baby, effortless like we weighed nothing. Dwight could feel his rock hard muscles as he bashed his fists into him, begging to drop him and let him go. Hell, if the man let Dwight stand next to him, Dwight would be shocked if he even went up to his shoulders. 

When the monster moved, it snapped Dwight out of his trance. The monster finally shifted his weight, before walking to the hatches lid. He seemed to think for a bit, before finally kicking it shut. The spider let out a sound, one that Dwight could only describe as joy. The monster looked away from the now shut hatch. He seemed almost lightheaded as he walked away, walking with purpose as he searched for Dwight. Thankfully, he walked in the complete opposite direction of the survivor. Dwight let out a sigh of relief, and when he felt brave enough, he waddled out from his hiding spot and approached the now shut hatch. It’s beautiful song has fallen silent now, and Dwight’s brows furrowed tightly. He shifted to his knees and pulled at the lid, but the thing was clamped shut tighter than a bear trap in Dwight’s leg. He yanked and pulled, trying to get the escape open, but it wouldn’t, and that’s when Dwight realized the horrible truth. The monster can shut his escape for good. 

Dwight began to hyperventilate, his breathing short and erratic. He pulled his hair in his hands, heartbeat racing. Tears pulled themselves free from his eyes as his vision went dark around the corners. The monster trapped him here, he can’t escape! The monster is going to find him and there's nothing he can do! He learned he can shut him in and that’s what he’s going to do. He’s so much bigger than Dwight, and he knows where the traps are, he’s going to beat him to the hatch over and over, and he’s going to hook Dwight in the basement and the hook is going to burn! Dwight can still feel the acid of the last trial in his chest. He doesn’t want it to happen again. He tried to keep his panic attack quiet, but it was ripping through his body like a chainsaw. Dwight shoved his tie in his mouth, teeth clamping down on it as hard as he could. The snot in his nose made it hard to breath, but he didn’t care. He’d rather suffocate than deal with the monster. Say… there's an idea. Dwight’s crying began to slow as he spit the tie from his mouth. He whipped a tear from his cheek as he rubbed a free thumb over the now damp fabric. 

Dwight spared no time. He quickly yanked the tie off his neck and hid behind a rock. He sat on his butt as he fumbled with the long fabric. Though Dwight has never tried, making a noose can't be too hard. He could distantly hear an angry breath from the voice, but it was far from him at this moment. His fingers were trembling, but like hell was he going to let himself die in that basement a second time. Eventually he gave up on the noose idea, because he just couldn’t get the knot right. So instead, he put the tie around his neck. He gave a hands width of space between his neck and a simple double knot in the fabric. The tie had a long ‘rope’ with a small loop at the end, a makeshift noose. Dwight stood up, tail of the tie in hand, eyeing the trees around. All of them were so tall, with little to no branches. Dwight felt a pit of despair swell up inside him, but then he remembered the large tree in the center of the trial. 

He was a bit careless making his way back to it, but he got lucky enough to not step in a trap. When he finally got to the tree, he felt his heart flutter at the sight of branches. They were high above, but closer to the ground and stronger looking than the others. Dwight bit the tie in his mouth so it wouldn’t get caught or tangled up in the tree, then he began clawing his way up the bark. It was so segmented and defined, that it made climbing it much easier than the wall. Once he was able to straddle a thick branch, he did his best to tie the tail of his tie as tightly as possible. The morbid realization really sunk in as he was forced to look to the ground below him. He's about to kill himself. He wondered what would happen if he died for real, but not like it matters. He yanked at the knot on the tree hard to test its strength, and when he decided his work was good enough, he let himself fall from the tree, the tie snapping his neck almost instantly. 

Bugs. 

There were bugs under his skin. He awoke at the campfire in deviating pain. Though his neck was no longer broken, that didn't stop the pain. His body was seizing at it. He was curled up, hands holding his arms, knees tucked into his chest and ankles locked together. There was an immense burning sensation inside. It felt like fire ants were scuttling about. He wanted to pick his skin off and get them out, but he literally couldn't move. The agony had locked his joints up and he couldn't even open his eyes. The insects were crawling around under his skin, inside his fat and muscle, creeping inside his bones. They itched behind his eyeballs and inside his ears. They flooded the chambers of his heart and infected his lungs. Fire ants bit inside his stomach and urethra, under his toenails and all the way back up to his teeth. He was a trembling mess, and he couldn’t even cry it hurt so bad. It could’ve been seconds, or days, that he laid there, praying for the pain to stop. It hurt so much worse than the basement hook, so ungodly worse. When the torture finally faded away, he didn't dare move. He remained still, too frightened to anger the fog… spider… voice… thing. The creature.

The Entity. 

When the next trial came around, Dwight didn’t even think about suicide. Apparently the spider entity despises that, and proved to him that taking a basement hook would be less painful. He cursed under his breath. Why did this thing hate him? What did he do to it that pissed it off so bad? He was acutely aware that the Entity is what brought him to this place of death. After he had been attacked by Lazar, the crows and fog seemed to appear out of nowhere. When the fog ate him away, and he woke up at the campfire, it’s been proven to him time and time again that the fog, voice and spider creature, are all one of the same, just in different forms. He’s seen more crows, especially in trials, but his focus on them has been minimal, the killer grasped most of his attention. Despite his lackluster attention to the birds, Dwight had the hunch that they were attached to the Entity as well. Dwight even wondered _what_ the Entity is. It seems to feed off of fear, was it a demon? 

Dwight had been searching for the hatch for what felt like days. He probably walked around the whole perimeter of the area twice. He wondered if maybe the monster got to it first, but he shook it from his head. No. Bad thoughts make him want to kill himself, and he’s sure as hell not doing that again. He gave a nearly silent, but frustrated sound from his nose and throat. He tried to think of a place that the hatch would appear, but he’s already checked the entire outside of the ‘map’, so to speak. Where else could he look? He’s searched everywhere! His eyes flickered around, trying to decide where to look next, but there was a nagging thought in his mind that he tried to ignore. There was one place he hadn't searched, but he prayed he didn’t have to. Begrudgingly, he shot his eyes to the main attraction. The center building and the one that carries the start of his pain. He was in;

**_”The Macmillan Estate; Iron Works of Misery”_ **

Right where it all began. His heartbeat was already staggering, trying to keep up. His body begged him not to, to just keep searching the outside areas, to not go in, but he knew he didn’t have a choice. He took a step that felt like it stretched out a mile. Each step was slow, but took him dangerously close to the large building. His heart was practically sobbing, aching and begging him, ‘please don’t go. Please don’t go’. He hardly watched the ground, not even noticing he narrowly avoided a bear trap. He couldn’t take his eyes off the open doorway. He could imagine the monster standing in the open door. Machete in one hand, bear trap in the other. He practically swallowed his Adam's apple, but he pushed his cowardice aside and stepped inside the building. 

It felt like he was revisiting a place from a nightmare. Like it wasn’t truly real, but his memories of it were. Like a mouse, he timidly crept inside, peering around every corner. His eyes were scanning for his monstrous mask, but thankfully it was nowhere to be seen. He continued to walk around, but then stumbled and let out a soft, but pained gasp, when his toes banged into something. He held onto a cold pipe that was on the wall for support and lifted his leg up to grip his toes through his shoe. Whatever he stubbed his toe on, it hurt like a bitch. Looking down, he wanted to give up right then and there. There on the ground, snapped shut like an alligators mouth, was the hatch. Dwight fell to his knees, trying to yank it open, but his heart knew it wasn’t going to, not in a million years. Dwight curled over, hands covering his face as he let out quiet sobs. Why was it so hard? 

He snapped his head up, eyes shooting over to an entrance straight across from him. He didn’t know what tipped him off, maybe it was that spine chilling sixth sense he had experienced before, but something in him knew the monster was there. His eyes locked onto the dark holes of the mask, and he quickly threw himself onto his backside, scrambling back, but then he realized, ‘what’s the point’? Why fight him when he can literally lift Dwight like a child? Dwight lost, end of story. He slowly edged backwards, until his shoulder blades met with the freezing cold pipes that drug along the equally icy walls. There were a few large pipes jutting from the floor, and curving into the wall. Dwight had unintentionally shoved himself between them. Perhaps it was his body's way of trying to shield him from the monster, but now it only left once place to escape; Forward, towards the monster. Though it didn’t matter. So instead, Dwight just gave into his body's attempt to seek comfort. Never taking his eyes from the monster, who still has yet to move, he withdrew his legs, hiking them back up to his chest. He curled his arms around his knees, before finally bowing his head into them. He didn’t want to see the blade come down. He just wanted to go home. 

Heavy footsteps began to sound out in the night air, edging closer. Dwight flinched hard, body sinking into the metal pipes more. He glued his forehead to his kneecaps. Eventually he moved his arms to cover his head and neck. He was quite literally in the shape of a small ball. Years of crying in bathroom stalls taught him well. The footsteps grew louder and heavier, and Dwight could practically feel the vibrations in the floor. They finally stopped mere feet in front of him, causing him to lock up and prepare for bloodshed. He was shaking so bad, silent tears pouring down his cheeks and into his dirty work pants. The monster was taking forever, or maybe Dwight's terror was dragging this moment out longer than it really was. He heard the beastly man let a sigh like groan out, and his knees pop as he seemingly bent. Dwight didn’t want to look, he couldn’t look. He kept his face down, waiting for the inevitable. 

The monster watched. He could see the boy's frantic breathing, his fingers damn near vibrating he was so horrified. He didn’t move as he watched the boy tremble. It was if he was seeing a man cry because of him for the first time, which it certainly wasn’t. The last few years of his life were practically dedicated to making men cry in fear, the type of men you wouldn’t expect to break down. People were fragile, that much he knew, but he knew how to break even the strongest of souls. This boy, however, was like glass, completely shattered by his presence alone. He watched him sob in his little corner, a trembling mess of a man. _The monster wanted to hurt him, **to crush him. To pop his head like a grape between his fingers, he knew he could**_. At the same time however, he didn't want to bother with the boy. He was small, pathetic. He wasn’t some coal miner he could beat into submission, he was already submissive. There was no challenge, no fun, but most importantly, no real reason to beat him down other than to be on top. Even that though, Evan knew he was already above him, both figuratively and literally. Evan walked with confidence and power. The boy walked with anxiety and terror. 

Dwight slowly lifted his head to peek at the monster. It was crouched in front of him, but it towered above him. He choked on a sob. _‘Why isn’t he killing me,’_ he thought. He didn’t want to be so close to it. He could smell his blood on its leather apron. He could also smell it’s sweat from under its charred armpits. He could hear it’s heavy breaths from under it’s mask. Dwight wormed deeper into his corner. If it was going to kill him, at least it would have to work to pull him out of this little corner. The monster didn’t seem to move, just stare, and Dwight didn’t know what was worse, being killed or being watched as an anxiety attack came bubbling under his skin. He’s had more anxiety and panic attacks here than the last two years in the real world. He just wanted it to stop. 

“Why,” he finally whispered out, tears dripping down his chin. The monster registered his voice, immediately breaking out of it’s silent haze and adjusting it’s stare. Dwight flinched again, the movement taking him off guard. It almost seemed like the monster wasn’t expecting him to speak either. Though the mask's mouth was turned upwards in a toothy grin, there was this innocent quality returning to him. One that Dwight had seen the last time he shut the hatch. The monster didn’t seem to understand everything. It watched on. Dwight could feel its gaze on his lips. Was… was it listening? It didn’t move to attack, but to listen? 

Dwight sat there silently, the tears slowing for now. He knew the moment he speaks again he’ll cry. That’s how it’s always been for him. The monster's head twisted to the side, right ear dipping to nearly brush against his shoulder. Dwight shuttered. That grinning mask shook him to the core. Why was it doing that with its head? The monster soon enough straightened its head, but quickly twitched back. It was acting like there was something in its ear, or it was hearing something. The air was thick between them. Dwight couldn’t hear anything, but it seemed like the monster did. Eventually the monster's movements ceased, and he returned to his straight eye stare at Dwight. Dwight shivered, twisting his face away from the beast. He finally got the nerve to speak again. “Why are you doing this?”

Silence, from both of them. The boy watched, the monster listened. It seemed the beast registered the boys words, but didn’t respond. Or perhaps it didn’t. It was possible that it didn't speak English. Dwight only speaks English, though he knows two phrases in Spanish and french. Might as well give it a shot. Swallowing his fear, he decided to try with the more likely option. 

“Hablas español?” Dwight felt like an idiot for a multitude of reasons. One, for his terrible attempt at Spanish, but also for his laughable decision to try and speak to the man who’s already hunted him down and killed him many times. Talking certainly worked the first time. Worked well enough to get a hook in his back, but Dwight figured he was going to die again anyways, might as well try and gain some information while he’s at it. “Est-ce que tu parles français?”

The monster seemed more confused now, tipping his head to the side. Dwight thumbed a crease in his pants as he lifted his head a little higher. “Do you speak English?”

A long pause. The monster seemed to dissect his words for a long while, before finally giving a nod. 

“Can you talk?” 

No answer. 

The monster understands English. Dwight asked if he could speak it and he nodded ‘yes’, but he wont talk. Dwight had a million questions he wanted to ask. _’Why have you been killing me? Who are you? What do you want? Where are we?’_. Though he didn’t know if actually voicing them would land him with a machete in his chest. He shifted, now starting to feel less fearful, and more uncomfortable. He could feel the heat coming off the beast, and the closeness bothered him. The only way he could get out of the corner was if he practically threw himself in the monster's arms, and he’d rather get a hook in his back than do that. The monster on the other hand, seemed curious and unbothered. He was still intimidating, that wouldn’t change, but at this moment, he was less terrifying. Dwight nervously hooked a finger in his shoe by his ankle as he looked at the monster. 

The whispers were loud and indecisive. They licked inside Evans' ears, hushing his own thoughts in favor of it’s dark words. The whispers wanted him to hurt the boy, _to cut into him and sacrifice him to the being up above. **He wanted to break him like a twig under his boot for the creature.**_ The whispers kissed at his cheeks. _The boy was clueless. Idiotic in a sense, though he has little to no direction. Perhaps Evan could teach him his new reality? His new life will be so long, yet so incredibly short. Might as well learn how to survive under Evan’s iron fist._. Evan groaned when the hushed voice finally fell silent, it’s words just under his tongue. He looked at the nervous boy once again. Small, stupid, and most likely blind without the glasses. **_’What a helpless maggot,’_** Evan thought. 

Dwight let out a shriek when the monster grabbed at his collar. The monster yanked him to his feet, though they hardly touched the ground. The killer dragged him by his shirt, away from the building and outside. Dwight choked and stumbled, trying his best to free himself from its evil grasp. His toes could just barely hit the ground with each step, his head tipped back to try and catch his breath. His hands gripped the killers wrist as hard as he could, dull fingernails clawing at the offensive appendage. The monster paid it no mind and practically carried him away by his shirt. He finally reached his destination and spun Dwight around and suddenly slammed him over one of the generators. Dwight let out a hiss of pain as his pelvis and ribs slammed into the machine. The killer's hand gripped the back of his neck firmly, keeping him bent over. When Dwight realized his less than desirable position, he felt his blood run cold. 

Thankfully though, the killer released his neck and took a step back from the shaking survivor. Dwight, with his hands placed on the generator, looked over his shoulder at the beast. The monster’s breath was heavy, like normal, and he stood and watched the nerd. Dwight slowly slid down to his knees, eyes never leaving the beast’s mask. When his knees touched the ground, he sat on his haunches and looked up to the monster. The machine was pulling at his subconscious, like someone hooking their finger in the collar of his shirt, enticing him to follow along. Even still though, Dwight wasn’t sure what to do, or what the monster was asking of him. He looked between the machine and the monster, giving him a worried and quizzical expression. Despite being unable to see the killer's face, Dwight swore he saw him roll his eyes. 

A painful hand clasped over his wrist and shoved his hand to the machine. Dwight winced and tried to pull his hand free, but the monster tightened its grip and let out a frustrated growl. Dwight froze, letting the killer do what it pleased. It held his wrist, keeping his palm on the bolts of the machine. Dwight, albeit timidly, raised his other hand and followed the killer's lead. When both of his hands were placed on the red metal, the monster withdrew his hands and stepped back once again. This time, Dwight let himself feel the pull, the ache. The demons whisper kissed at his ears, sending a chill through his nerves. The dark voice came from deep inside the air, but in his head all at the same time. It’s demand was simple. 

**“Repair the generator, Dwight”**

Dwight shivered. As quickly as it came, the Entities presence had left him, though he could still feel it watching. He traced his fingers over stray parts on the machine. He had no clue where to start. Dwight worked at several jobs in his life, but none of which had to do with repairing machinery. He knew next to nothing about generators. The scarce knowledge he has was from old movies and a video game from way back. Back home, he didn’t even have a car, couldn’t afford one. That’s why he was on the bus to go to the ‘team building exercise’. Despite his lack of experience, the breathing of the beast was enough motivation to get Dwight to try. He pushed a small metal flap down and was already flustered and confused by the nearly comical amount of wires and buttons before him. His head spun as he tried. 

Tried and failed for the longest time. He was working on that generator on his knees, hair on the back of his neck standing on edge due to the monster standing so close behind him, for what seemed like ages. Between connected wires, twisted gears, button mashed buttons and constantly flipped switches, Dwight felt like his work would never end. Though due to his efforts, the machine was groaning now, and a fluttering feeling was rising in Dwight's chest, much like when he first heard the melody of the hatch. Though he had no idea why, hope was slowly dribbling inside his chest. Despite the wires zapping his fingers, knuckles nearly bleeding from twisting them with his hands, occasionally making the generator scream with a failed movement, it was starting to revive. The longer he worked, the louder the machine got. It revved and roared, the light above flickering and coming to life. That fluttering feeling of hope began to creep up Dwight's cheeks, and the moment he connected the final wire, a loud _‘bbrching’_ sound blasted through the air, light now raining down on the survivor. 

Dwight could only shoot a quick glance back to the killer before the monster grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him to his feet. It stomped off with him, this time letting his toes hit the ground a little more. Dwight followed along, not knowing exactly what to do. The monster isn’t killing him, yet, just making him repair these things. The larger man finally got to his destination, and slammed Dwight over a different generator. This one was encased in shadows and everything in this corner was quiet. In the corner of Dwight’s eye he saw a locker, and the temptation was strong, but he looked back to the machine. He slid down the generator, being thankful that the monster didn’t try anything while he was bent over. If the beast wanted to, he could do anything, and Dwight was damn thankful he carried the fraction of mercy he has. 

Repairing this generator was harder than the last. Since this one was in a hardly lit area, it made working on it much more of a challenge. Those quick and weak flashes of light from above were his saving grace, enough to find the next set of wires for a speedy second. He tried not to let the hair on his neck stand tall as he could feel the monster behind him. It’s looming presence was more than enough to send a chill down his spine. Dwight wondered why it was doing this, why it was letting him mess with its machines. Assuming they do belong to him, that is. Maybe the machines belonged to the Entity? Dwight glanced back for only a moment, and when the monster snapped its head in the direction of Dwight, he flinched back to look at the generator. Dwight’s heart pounded, but soon he became lost in his work, a stronger feeling of hope welling up inside. He nearly felt excited. Something good was coming his way, he knew it. 

The _’bing’_ of the generator reaching completion made the light rain down on the two men. Before Dwight could prepare for a yank to the back of his throat, a blaring alarm sounded through the air. He flinched. Had he done something wrong? The sound was horrific, and yet, it pulled at that fluttering feeling inside his heart. He looked back to the monster, and his mouth fell agape when he saw it lose its balance for a half second and stumble before steadying itself. It shook its head slightly, before rubbing an ear. A grumble from deep within it’s throat could be heard, and the beast looked to Dwight, fear clear on his face. The monster stepped forward, and the boy nearly let him yank him to his feet. Tugged by his tie, Dwight let the monster lead him away. Dwight didn’t want to work on another generator, his hands are already oily and bloody, how much more does he have to do? 

Suddenly, he was slammed into a wall, a metal box proving to be the most painful part of the equation. He yelped in pain, hands flying up to shield himself from the wall. The monster's hand pressed hard against his back, forcing his chest and face to push against the mossy bricks. He held him there for a long time, and as soon as the message was understood, the monster withdrew his hand, but didn’t step back. The moment Dwight stepped away from the wall, his back met with the beast's chest. He nearly threw himself face first in the wall, but found that sweet spot where he didn’t have to touch either. His hands were placed on the wall up by his face, cheek nearly pressed against his rubbed raw knuckles. He looked at the side of the wall that wasn’t brick. It was metal. It was like a weird, garage door almost, but Dwight doubted it would lead to something as mundane as that. He could feel the now flowing pull of hope inside, but it was dwarfed by the monster at his back. He wanted to look at the beast, to try and read his body language and see what he’s asking of him now, but his shoulders were rising, trying to form a crescent moon and disappear. Trembling, Dwight finally shot the monster a look over his shoulder. What little confidence he had was swallowed up when he saw the beast behind him. 

Dwight, again, didn’t think of himself as a tall person, but he wasn’t short. This man, however, was a giant, hitting every requirement for the word. His chest was broad, packed full of muscle and well paced fat. He was built like a brick wall, sturdier than the one Dwight tried to climb. His eyes scanned over the beast's arms. They were rocks, strong and unbreakable. No wonder why he can pick Dwight up like an infant. He could probably bench press Dwight’s whole family. Dwight’s eyes flicked up to the toothy mask, and he shuttered with the realization that this beast is definitely over a foot taller than him. Actually it was probably closer to two. That would make him, what? Seven feet tall? Seven feet, and what, nine inches? Dwight didn’t even know humans could get this tall, but who’s to say that the monster is even human at all. When he saw him the first time, Dwight had figured he was half the size of the beast, but now being so close to him, he’s more or less about a third. Dwight shifted on his heels, heart racing. 

The boy is clueless. Evan weaseled his hand around Dwight’s flinching shoulder to grab his bleeding hand. The boy hissed, but didn’t resist much. He forced the boys hand down to grip the lever he hadn't even noticed yet. A look of confusion crossed the boys eyebrows before he turned his face away from Evans' sight. Evan kept his hand firmly placed over the boys, **relishing in the feeling of his palm soaking up some of his blood**. He could sense the boy's curiosity and anxiety. He watched the boys head tip down, neck peeking out from the collar of his no-longer-white shirt. Evan tipped his head to the side, catching a glimpse of the boy's ear, cheek and the glasses on his face. He watched as the boy looked at the metal lever, analyzing it. Slowly, he took the lever willingly into his other hand, before shooting a timid glance at Evan, as if asking, _‘is this right?’_

The monster let go of Dwight’s burning hand, it’s skin irritated and frustrated. Dwight waited for the monster to give him some space, but when he made no signs of movement, he bit the inside of his cheek and dealt with it. He looked back to the lever, and started to pull. The lever was heavy, almost too heavy for him, but Dwight yanked it hard and the switch finally fell down. The second it made contact with the lower half of the metal box, a light switched at the top, and a metallic groan sound filled the air. Dwight kept the lever down, half way pinning it with his elbow. The monster was much too close in his space bubble, and that in itself sent spiders crawling under his skin. He kept his nose to the wall, trying not to acknowledge the beast's presence. It was hard when it cast a shadow over Dwight's apparently tiny frame. Dwight glued his eyes to the now trembling metal doors. That’s when it finally clicked in his head. _’No… no,’_ Dwight thought, his heart pounding. _’There’s no way. It’s too good to be true, it’s not true.’_

Despite his disbelief however, a warning siren sounded out just before the doors opened and hope now exploded inside his chest. Escape! Escape is right there! He spared no second to break into a sprint. He rounded the corner and there it was, an open fog. It seemingly led nowhere, but Dwight’s gut knew it would take him right back to the campfire. Before he could get three steps into the exit gate however, he let out a gagging sound when the monster yanked him back. He screamed, flailing his limbs and trying to kick free. The escape is right there! He’s so close! He could feel tears about to well up into his eyes, expecting to be lifted off the ground and hoisted over the killers shoulder, but instead the beast slammed him back against the wall. He pinned Dwight by the throat, cutting off his air for a moment. His heart thundered against the monster's palm. His eyes locked onto the eye holes of the mask, his knuckles paling as they gripped the beasts’ wrist. The monster paid it no mind and to Dwight's horror, it leaned down to his level, closing the distance between them. 

Dwight couldn’t breathe. Not because of the hand on his throat, but because of it all refusing to come out. His breath was frozen in his lungs, unable to free from it’s fleshy confines. The white mask was a hair away from touching the tip of Dwight’s nose. His eyes were blown wide, constantly flickering between the dark eye holes, which now had a nearly undetectable eye shine from the light above, and the large toothy grin on the mask, which now revealed tanned skin and an angry set of lips. Though he can’t see all of his face, the little parts Dwight could see sent ice down his spine. The monster has a face. It’s not just some faceless ‘it’ that he can dispel as a figment of his imagination. It… he has a face. The monster can’t just be called a monster, because he’s a man, a human. Those features are distinctly human. Dwight would’ve preferred keeping his idea of the man as just some monster in human skin, but that sneaky glimpse of hidden features now made him want to puke. The killer roughly brought his hand up to grip Dwight’s jaw, forcing him to look at him directly. Dwight winced at the painful grip, but he obeyed, not like he had much of a choice. The monster paused, watching or listening Dwight couldn’t tell, but after several excruciatingly long seconds, a voice broke the silence. 

**“Only...”** , the voice quietly grumbled out, struggling to speak. A whimper got caught in Dwight’s throat when he saw the monster's lips parting. **“Only once,”** he growled at Dwight. 

That was all he said before he practically threw Dwight by the jaw into the exit gate, the survivor stumbling to catch himself from falling. He didn’t look back as he darted through the fog, feeling relief wash over him as it consumed him away. Dwight sprinted out from the fog, almost tripping over a branch. He threw himself at a tree to lean on as he caught his breath. He panted like a dog, his glasses sliding down his nose, hand over his heart. When his heart began to calm and lungs no longer burning, Dwight took in a deep breath from his nose and sighed. Pushing his glasses back up his face, he looked at the campfire, still burning. He stepped over to it, sitting on a log just in front of it. Resting his elbows on his knees, he inspected his knuckles. They were bare of scabs, but the soreness and ache remained.

His eyes locked onto the fire's flames. The monster spoke to him. He talked to Dwight. He said, ‘only once’. Those words were cemented into his mind. What did that mean exactly? Only once he’ll be spared? Or only once he’ll escape? Only once, this or that. He figured only time will tell, but Dwight hated that. He hated leaving everything up to time and the future, he wanted to know now. If the monster and the Entity want to toy with him, at the very least it could give him answers to the questions he wondered. He took a stick in his palm and prodded at the fire. He scraped it against the charred wood as he thought harder. So when the hatch is shut, there's still hope. Two generators mean the doors can be opened, but it all was so loud. So horribly loud. He’d never be able to pull off an escape that way. That’s probably what the killer meant. _’Only once, you’ll escape like this.’_ Dwight let out a soft chuckle. That little phrase sounded like an off brand Yoda to him. Dwight didn’t even think he could laugh anymore, and the moment his giggle registered in his brain, a crashing sense of loneliness washed over him. 

He looked over to the other fallen log, empty and just as lonely as he. His eyes looked around at the barren campsite, and that’s when it all truly registered. Just how long has he been alone? Of course he’s technically not alone when the monster is hunting him, but that’s not company. It’s predatory. Dwight was never a social guy, but even he wanted someone to talk to once and awhile. He missed Rose. It feels like it's been forever since he’s hung out with her. He recalled her sitting on his desk, telling him stories about her kids, expressing her frustration to men in the dating world. He remembered the snort in her laugh and the dimples in her smile. She had a comforting mom energy, one that he grew up being completely starved of. Her presence in his life filled a gap that he didn’t know was there, but then Lazar fucked it all up.

Dwight threw the stick aside and sighed. God, he wanted to talk to Rose so badly. She’d know what to do, or at the very least, know how to comfort him. It wasn’t just Rose he wanted to talk to, at this point he’d be desperate to talk to nearly anyone. Even his dad, or Lazar, two people he’s tried to avoid like the plague. He put his cheek in his palm. His heart felt like it was being crushed by this loneliness. Generators would be easier with help. Someone could protect him from a hook in his back if they were here, and if they cared. Life here would just be… more life like if there was somebody else. Dwight let out another sigh as he slumped to the ground. He shifted to face the log, trying not to think about these painful hopes as he drifted off to sleep. Little to his knowledge, his feelings were being analyzed, and his thoughts were being taken into consideration. After all, two is better than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed that, it was really fun to write. 
> 
> More chapters coming soon, and as always, I look forward interacting with you guys and I will see you when the next chapter comes out! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Hopeless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly shorter than normal chapter, but a chapter nonetheless!

The following trials were brutal. The first thing on Dwight’s agenda was always the same, find the hatch. Unfortunately though, his pattern was clear, and it was no longer a sneaky activity to do while the hunter was patrolling generators. No. Now it was a race of who could find the hatch first. Almost every time, it was the killer. Dwight blamed the trappers' long legs, they made his stride length seemingly twice Dwight's. Every trial was the same as the last. The trial begins, both of them try to find the hatch, the killer finds it first and kicks it, then Dwight is forced to die or work on the machines and die anyways. Between each unintentional step in a bear trap or machete in his back, Dwight had tried to work on the generators. Emphasis on the word _‘tried’_. It was more or less, _‘do a little bit, then die’_ ’. 

Now that the killer had the routine in mind, he was relentless. He patrolled the machines like no tomorrow. If they so much as made a half hearted squeak or groan, he slammed his foot into it, ensuring they’d break. It was so frustrating! The generators were hard enough to do, but this bastard breaking them before Dwight has hardly even started is infuriating. When the killer would be stomping over to the generator Dwight was working on, he’d quickly jump into a locker. However, if there were none nearby, Dwight had to get creative. He’s hid behind rocks and trees, underneath brick windows and even behind a hook. Some have proven to be successful, others not so much. However, despite a mini win while trying to hide, he knew he’d die later. 

His escape or die ratio was almost unbearably pathetic. He’s escaped only three times, and he’s already lost count of how many times he’s died. The hooks still hurt, but now that he expects them, he doesn’t cry so hard when they spear into him. He nearly escaped a trial by the generators once, but that also ended in failure. What had happened was that he completed the two generators, and made it to the exit gate. As he held the lever down to open it, the killer yanked him off the lever and put him on a basement hook. That particular death had a lot of salt to the wound, and Dwight couldn’t help but curse and cry, even before the spider legs plunged into him, he swore and cursed at the killer. Even going so far as to damn him to Hell, and Dwight isn’t even a religious person. 

Dwight was laying on his back at the campfire, sighing to himself. After the day he realized he was lonely, the feeling became unbearable. He used to enjoy the quiet, the silence, but now it was just a reminder that he’s going to get murdered again. He’s already given up on trying to escape from the campfire. Just two trials ago he realized he hasn’t gone to the bathroom or ate in seemingly days or weeks. Again, the passage of time was impossible to understand here. He didn’t even realize he had nothing to eat or drink until he had actually thought about it. He wasn’t hungry or thirsty at all, perfectly full and quenched. He found that odd, but didn’t care too much. If he can die and come back, he certainly can understand not ever needing to eat again. 

Dwight sat up. He looked over to the group of twig tee-pees he’s now got quite fond of making. At the campfire, he had nothing to do, not even giving the fire more wood to burn, so he’s just decided to be a kid again and make miniature forts. They seemed to remain after trials too, which was nice. He now had seven tee-pees, of all varying sizes and qualities. He crawled over to them and laid onto his stomach. He propped himself up on his elbows as he fiddled with his twig ‘toys’. His legs were bent, and he swung his feet back and forth as he tried to ignore the loneliness. Rocks made for little people, and leaves were boats. He knew doing this was stupid, but hey, who’s gonna judge him? The crows? Dwight glanced up at one that was staring at him from a tree. He looked at it for a moment, before sticking his tongue at the creature and then turned his attention back to his toys. 

Another trial. Sneak, search, hatch is shut, gen, dead. Back to the campfire he goes. 

He’s come up with a story for his tee-pee friends. The large rock was a Native American tribe leader. The smaller rocks were the hunters and gatherers. They lived in peace, and even though Dwight didn’t know much about the genuine lives of Native Americans, he knew plenty of shows and movies revolving around one thing; Cowboys and Indians. Though, for his little group, they had no cowboys to fear. They were happy and played games, and their campfire was huge. He turned to look at the campfire warming his side and gave a small smile. Once the smile crossed his face though, his brows twisted and he looked back to the twigs and rocks. Tears streamed down his face. Is he really this lonely? Is this really what he’s become? He’s a grown adult man, playing with literal sticks and he called them his friends. Dwight took off his glasses and covered his eyes with his palms. God, he needed someone, anyone. 

The next trial that came, it went by the same. The hatch was kicked shut really fast this time, Dwight has come to recognize the sound of it. He walked, but not to a generator. No, he walked right past one. He went straight for a locker and stepped inside of it. Once he was tucked away into it’s darkness, he slid down it’s back and sat down. He was tired of it. Tired of trying. He’s died so much, and now he’s ready to die for real and never come back. A hook hurt, but the loneliness hurt more. He tucked his knees in his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He stuck his fingers in his mouth, running the pads of them along his teeth, especially his sharp canines. He wished, no, prayed there could be someone else, someone to take his place. The monster has killed Dwight enough, can’t it be somebody else's turn? Or maybe someone else could show up, then Dwight really could disappear like he did in high school. If someone else was here, the attention wouldn’t be on him anymore. Sure, as a teen he wanted to be a leader, a popular boy, but now he just wants to vanish like dust in the wind. 

As he gnawed at his fingers, he thought about the real world, and how much he missed it. Sure, it sucked while he was in it, but he didn’t realize how easy it was. If he would’ve just played his role and kept his nose down, he would’ve been able to keep his job and sat on a comfortable wage, but no, he just had to be brave, for the first time in his miserable life. Dwight bit his knuckle, trying to shake Lazar’s presence from his mind. He turned his thoughts to his cats. He wondered if they were okay, and if his mom ever came and got them, or if the landlord tossed them into a pound. He feared for his black cat, Friday, praying he wasn’t put into a pound. He knew his orange lover boy would be fine, he’d get adopted right away, but black cats don’t get adopted very often. Friday already spent most of his kitten-hood in a cage, Dwight had promised himself he’d never let him be caged again, but if he was sent to a pound, already being an adult cat, it was almost certain he was put down. 

He placed his bet on his landlord putting his cats in a shelter. He doubted his mom would even bother coming to check his house. He wondered if the police were even called, now that he’s missing. Hell, Lazar probably thinks Dwight just quit his job. Dwight sniffled inside the locker. He hoped one day he’d be able to escape this Hell. If he ever did, he’d probably try and go back to his parents, at least for just a while. As much as he despised being around them, he doubted he’d be able to function without a familiar face nearby. His eyes were heavy, and his chin rested in his palm. Rose hates him, he knows she does. He got too selfish and let her get fired. She tried to warn him, but he didn’t listen, and now he screwed her over. He blinked slowly. Max from Peak22 is probably laughing and laughing, happy to have Dwight gone. Why, Dwight didn’t know. He yawned. Maybe if he came back, his mom would love him. Maybe she’s always loved him, but didn’t know it, and maybe him being missing was the push she needed to acknowledge her care. Hopefully when he comes back she’ll pull him into a hug and tell him nothing bad… will… ever happen… again…

A crow is what gave him away. In his haze, he heard it caw. The mons- the killer, swung the doors open to reveal Dwight crumpled at the bottom of the locker, just waking up from sleep. The killer gave a disgruntled sound, but didn’t grab Dwight. Dwight, who rubbed the tired from his eye, glasses askew, looked up to the beastly man. He made no efforts to run. He just fixed his lenses in place, and stared up to the killer in a sleepy haze. They were both drenched in Dwight's dried blood, but now the survivor was desensitized to the red. Instead he put his cheek on his knees, lowering his head and looking at the killer's filthy boots. 

“Hi,” he said in a voice just barely above a whisper. “Just do it.”

The killer bent over and grabbed Dwight's hair. He slowly yanked it back, expecting a shriek, but he didn’t even get a groan. Dwight had no fear on his face, just exhaustion and a numb look in the eye, a look Evan was quite familiar with. He held Dwight’s head in his hand, wanting to break his neck, but he watched the boys face. Dwight looked at the mouth of the mask, before going back to the eyes. 

“Do it.” 

Without much of another option, the brute lifted the unresistant man from the locker. He threw him over his shoulder, and was almost shocked by the lack of effort. Dwight didn’t even bother hitting him, or wiggling. He was limp in his arms. The killer walked into the killer's shack, stepping down into the basement below. The basement always pulled the most extreme reactions out of the boy, but not this time. He was silent and still, waiting for the fiery hook to pierce him. That’s just what it did when Evan shoved him onto the hook. The boy let out a cry of pain, but it wasn’t from deep within his chest like normal, it was throaty, with an air filled quality to it. He didn’t even do his signature spasm with his legs. He just… hung limply, waiting for the Entity to spring from the darkness and devour him. 

When Dwight opened his eyes, he could feel a swirl of emotions, but none of them were his. He was numb and lonely, but these feelings were neither. They were dark, angry and frustrated, filled with chaos and sinister thoughts. He rolled to tuck his face against the log. He was ready to sleep again and even though the Entity was livid with anger at his lack of effort, he just didn’t care. What’s it going to do? Kill him? Send fire ants under his skin again? Big deal. He curled his arms into his chest and shut his eyes, already falling asleep. The Entities rage boiled above him, but it didn’t stop him from his dreamless sleep. The creature spun above. It reflected on Dwight's thoughts and feelings. It couldn’t feast if he’s given up. It might as well eat him for good and gather a replacement to fill his role. Perhaps the next survivor would be iron willed and not as quick to give up. It just needed to find someone like that, it would take time. However, it did register Dwight’s internal pain. The game was rather unfair, Evan did have the advantage. Perhaps there was a way it could make things a little more even? 

The Entity cooed above, practically purring. So many tasty ideas were making it drool. Dwight, the clever minded boy, his loneliness was so inspiring, and oh-so appetizing. Pain breeds creativity and creativity is delicious. It’s stomach gave a happy growl as it watched him sleep. So soft, so vulnerable, no wonder he cried so often. Such a helpless boy, he needs help. As Dwight soundly slept, it’s breath hovered over him, kissing his ears and cheeks. It loved watching him bleed, the red painting his skin like a canvas, it was beautiful, like a baker decorating a cake. The hair of his subtle side burns blew softly at it’s breath. **_”Sleep Dwight, you will need your strength. Yes, rest, a friend will come",_** it's presence hovered over his tee-pees. **_"You won't be alone much longer."_**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I hope you guys liked this chapter. It's kinda lack luster, I know. Not really the best I've written, but that's okay! Big plans, big plans! 
> 
> Can't wait to interact with you guys! See you soon!


	6. Run Run Run

“Have a safe run Meg!” 

“I will,” the sparky redhead called back through the open front door. “Love you mom!”

When her mom yelled a gravely ‘I love you too’ back, Meg shut the door and stepped down the porch steps. Getting to the bottom, she knelt down and adjusted her new shoes and tightened the laces to her liking. She had received them as a gift for winning a race two weeks ago, but hasn’t had the time to break them in yet. She’s been so preoccupied by taking care of her mom, bless the woman’s heart, and hasn’t even had time for herself. She smiled while looking down at the shoes on her feet. They were red and white, perfect for her, nice soles and really comfortable. Even though she already thanked coach Jenny, she figured she should thank her again. New shoes were hard to come by, now with the hospital bills racking up and all, and Jenny doesn’t give her that pity crap and sympathy. Meg is her prized student, and she knows how to speak Meg’s language. Pity is not how you get through to Meg Thomas. 

Rising to her feet, Meg walked off the porch and began to stretch. A sting was still in her ankle, but each and every moment the pain resurfaced, a snarky grin crossed her face. Dana’s face flashed in her mind every time without fail. That confused and dazed look in the bitches eyes as Meg crossed the finish line. A surge of energy hit Meg like a train. The victorious feeling was like gasoline to a match. Once she stretched out enough, Meg looked to the road and imagined it being the race track again. She got down on her hands, backside in the air, face low. She pictured Dana crouched next to her, an arrogant look in her eyes. Meg remembered smiling at the other girl just before the race began. The redhead shifted her weight, picturing the crowds watching, her mom waiting at home to hear about Meg’s certain victory. In a burst of speed, Meg sprinted, her mind hearing the shot, indicating the race has started. She dashed down the road, her new shoes kicking up debris as she ran. Her heart was fluttering, imagining the bitch chasing after her, angry and confused that Meg could walk on her ankle, let alone run the race. Meg was speeding down the road like a lightning bolt, passing houses, cars, picket fences and mailboxes. In her mind, Dana’s breath is furious behind her, but far enough to get Meg giddy. Meg leapt over a green electrical box, picturing it being a hurdle. The end of the road was coming, the finish line almost there. Dana tries to sprint past her, but she isn’t even close to winning against Meg. She’s as good as the pebbles under the red and white of Meg’s shoes. Mimicking the leap she took as she broke the finish line, along with her ankle, Meg stopped just at the highway, her heart pumping, but no were near tired yet. 

Before leaving the house, Meg was already in a good mood, but Dana’s dumb face cemented a smile onto Meg’s lips. Is she cocky and gloating? Hell yes she is. Is she damn proud of it? Hell yes she is. Hardly breaking a sweat, Meg continued to dash down the road. Cars passed her, and several she recognized, giving them her signature wave and nod combo. One of the cars that passed was one of the girls on Megs team. She poked her head out the car and waved, shouting Meg's name, and in Meg’s glee, she happily flipped her friend off, who in return, called her a ‘bitch’ as the car drove away. Meg laughed out loud, having another rush of speed crash into her. Meg even passed a cop car, and that snarky grin on her face made her crinkle her nose. She could feel her lucky horseshoe in her back pocket. Meg is a fucking bad-ass for slashing that cruiser tire. She waved as the cop drove by. Meg ran far. She dashed all the way to the center of the city, past the Walmart and competing Fred Meyers across the street. She stopped running once she got to the steps of a Rite Aid. Despite running for the better part of thirty to forty minutes, Meg was still rich in energy. Her lungs were far from burning. As she walked inside, she greeted familiar faces as she walked to the pharmacy. 

“Hey there,” Meg nodded at the woman behind the counter. An overweight southern woman turned around, her cheeks already rising into a smile. The woman set the pill bottle she held down at the other counter a few feet behind her before straightening out her white apron and stepping forward to greet the Thomas kid. 

“Well howdy Megan,” the woman exclaimed upon seeing the braided girl. “Out _running_ some errands for your ma?”

Meg let out a hearty laugh, she leaned an elbow on the counter top before speaking. “You know it.”

“How is she doing by the way?” 

“Ehh,” Meg’s eyes drifted as she thought about how to avoid details. “She's… doing. Managing.”

“That bad huh?” The woman gave a worried frown. Meg wished she wore a hat today to hide her face as she looked down. “What have the doctors said?”

“What can they say?” Meg croaked, flashing the pharmacist a glance before looking at a crack in the counter top. She thumbed over it a few times as she spoke. “They don’t know jack shit. They keep staying, ‘just rest, drink lots of water and keep taking your antibiotics’, like _that's_ been helping.”

“I’m sorry darlin. Wish I could help.”

“Me too.”

“Well how ‘bout I get you those antibiotics for your mama?”

Meg cleared her throat and forced a smile, “sure, thanks.”

She tried not to think about her bed ridden mother. She can get out of bed to go to the bathroom on her own, for now, but she needs to stay in bed for everything else. Meg’s taken up all the household chores, cooking, cleaning, household maintenance. It’s been nearly impossible to have downtime, that with work and all. Meg missed going to college, but her mom matters more. Meg only wished they could have more time together, but when Meg finally gets off work, there's chores to do, and when she can finally see her mom, she’s resting. She didn't have the heart to wake her mom up, but the nagging knowledge of the numbered days pulled at Megs hair. She wished she could just know how long she had left, so ensure every day would count, but life doesn't work that way, sadly. Meg felt a stinging feeling flash in her eyes and she glared down. _‘Don’t fucking do this here Meg,’_ she cursed herself. _’I swear to fucking God, don’t do it’_.

“Here ya go honey,” the woman said as she placed the antibiotics in a bag. She handed it over to Meg. Meg paid for it like normal and wished the woman a good bye, but that didn’t stop the woman from saying, “Tell your mama I’m rootin’ for ‘er.”

“Will do,” Meg nodded with a slight frown and walked out the Rite Aid. 

Pain washed over her with the cold outside breeze. Her eyelashes fluttered with the wind. Is this what her life is now? She hardly runs anymore. Even though she dropped out only a few weeks ago, it feels like she’s been losing herself for months. Not even realizing she is walking back to the highway, she thought about how simple things were just last year. Her mom was still sick, but at that time, they just thought it was a cold. The doctors have tried everything, but in Meg’s eyes, they haven’t done enough. If they don’t know what’s killing her mom, then they haven’t tried everything. It doesn’t matter how much it will cost, Meg will pay it. Even if she has to stay in debt until she's sixty five. They can’t let her mom die, she doesn’t have anybody else! She wiped her eyes as she passed by cars. It’s easier to look mad. If you’re angry, people back off. So now, with a scowl on her face she began walking home. However, it didn’t stop the misery rising up in her throat. Only minutes ago she was so ecstatic and happy, but now she was so upset. _’What am I, bipolar?’_ She angrily thought. There was one thing she found peculiar. When she was still in school, her mom brought her so much comfort and joy. When she felt lost, she’d think back to her mom, and suddenly she knew her way, but Dana, Dana brought rage and hatred, so much anger. Now however, thoughts of her mom brings emptiness, a shallow sadness that Meg can’t help but drown in, and thoughts of Dana bring her confidence and joy. Funny how that changed. She never used to think about Dana so often, but Meg needs something, someone, to take her mind out of those thoughts. 

Meg made it back to the road that leads home, and that numb wave hit her again. She wasn’t ready to go home yet. Yes, she loves her mom, more than anything. Her mom has protected her for her life. She’s been her mom, dad and best friend for all nineteen years of Meg’s life. She’s saved her life from the rest of the world, but now that her mom desperately needs help, Meg can’t save her and every time Meg sees her, she’s reminded of that fact. Her mom is dying, and she can’t do anything about it. Meg has never felt so small, so weak and helpless. Why did it have to be her mom? If it really had to be her, why couldn’t it have been something like a flu? Something easy to medicate and overcome. However, if this was God's way of showing Meg it was her mothers time, then why couldn’t it have been something like cancer, something with a name, something that _can_ be cured, but can also kill. At least then Meg would have the bare minimum of hope, or she could find a community of people going through the same things as her and could have advice and share stories but no. It had to be some faceless sickness without a name, something that has been slowly but surely killing her mom, while Meg is forced to watch and pretend that it’s not happening. _’Fuck you God,’_ Meg cursed as she looked to the sky above. 

As she walked home, she spotted some birds sitting on branches above her head. She was envious of the crows. They could fly, fly away from the guilt and pain. No matter how fast Meg ran, she would always come home. The crows could come and go as they pleased, and Meg was envious of their freedom. A single tear left a track on her cheek, and she sniffled and wiped it away. Her house was in view, and the pit grew larger. She didn’t want to be home yet. The second she opens that door, her mom will know she’s home, and Meg will have to put on that brave face again. As Meg walked up the driveway, she decided she wouldn't enter the house, not yet. Instead, she tiptoed up the steps and set the Rite Aid back on the door handle. She leaned over the porch rail and sighed. Kicking out a leg, she rested her forehead in her palms. She remained quiet and still for a long while, listening to the crows caw above. After a few more motionless seconds, she finally decided to go for one last jog. Just one more before she has to put the mask on. 

“Hey Cloudy,” she muttered to her grey outside cat. Cloudy jumped onto the railing and looked at her with his steel eyes. He meowed softly at her and she palmed over his head before walking back down the driveway for the last time. Taking in a deep breath, she put her mind back on a race. In her mind, she’s about to become the state champion, the best of the best. She looks up at the stadium full of people, a few familiar faces in a sea of strangers. Her blood is pumping, fingers trembling with the energy she carries, but her mind was blank, other than thoughts of victory. The other racers don’t know what she’s capable of, they have no clue who they're up against. After all, she earned the nickname Dare Damsel Meg. She takes in a deep breath, and waits for the match to begin. 

When Meg went for her next run, she didn’t sprint like before. This time, she wanted to take it slow, blow off time for a while. Her strong legs took her far, and with such ease too. _’Heh, Dana’,_ she thought. _’I guess my disproportionate thighs do do something for me’_. Meg jogged, letting her braids bounce with each step she took. She tried to think of happy thoughts. Happy memories of races or spiteful moments with Dana, or laughter she shared with coach Jenny, but every thought seemed to bring her right back to her mom. Each time Meg tried to shake her face from her minds eye, but her mom would come back, creeping inside her head. Meg suddenly made it to a new woodsy trail, blocked off by a metal rope connected between two trees. She stopped running, cocking her head to the side as she eyed the sign hanging on the wire. The sign stated firmly ‘NO TRESPASSING’. Little did the sign know, Meg was Meg, and she wasn’t very happy today. So, without any hesitation, she stepped over the wire that blocked off the path and started jogging once again.

__

She figured this road must be an old logging road or something, it looked like it’s been abandoned for years. The no trespassing sign must really work, because this road was overgrown and unkempt. It seemed like no ones been down here for half a century, kinda cool in a way. Peaceful almost. Meg was used to running on the flat rubber of a track race, but she didn’t mind rough terrain once in a while. In fact, that's how she started running. At an old house she lived at, there was this hiking trial and Meg would take her moms stop watch and time herself, trying to get a faster time after every run. She was good, and she learned the perfect places to step to get the best speed boosts like a level in Mario Kart. That trail got so warn down by her frequent visits that it made her times accelerate. Eventually that old trial was logged, stripped of all its trees and for what? It's still naked and bare to this day. Meg figured the loggers did it just to spite her, but she knew that wasn't the truth. Meg continued to jog down this new path, already fond of it from distant memories. She was careful of her ankle, still sore from when she broke it. It’s nearly healed, just small sparks of pain here and there from reckless steps. She could walk and jog on it fine, just hard stomps revived the pain. So, Meg kept her steps quick, but light.

Jogging in the woods was fun, but she couldn’t shake an odd feeling that was washing over her like a fog. Eventually she stopped running and looked around. She didn’t think she was being watched, not necessarily. There was a presence, but it didn’t feel human it could be an animal, there has been a lot of cougar sightings in her area, but Meg was fast and has pepper spray, so she figured she'd be fine if a cougar came crawling out of the bushes. Even still though, her eyes sharply scanned the treeline. The longer she stood, the more aware she felt, there was definitely something here. She reached inside her back pocket, pulling out her lucky horseshoe. The curved rubber fit nicely in her palm, and she clenched her fist around it. Her brows were furrowed, lips slightly parted. She was ready to run or fight. Though she wasn’t expecting to see a human face pop out of the bushes, she didn’t dispel the idea. She’s already been jumped once, she’s not about to go down without a fight again. The pepper spray would be a safer option to hold, but something made her want her horseshoe more. As she darted her eyes around, a loud caw from above startled her.

“Fuckin’ crow,” she cursed and eyed the bird. Several sat beside it, all staring at her. She kicked out a leg, letting the other support her weight. Crossing her arms she glared up at the wide eyed birds. “What? You got a staring problem?”

A caw in return.

“Oh really? That’s not very nice,” Meg amused herself. The tense feeling fell from her shoulders and she smiled. “Find some, I dunno, bird seed to eat or something.”

Another loud caw.

“Whatever,” she muttered as she sat down on a stump. She pulled up her foot to rest beside her on the chopped wood, her knee next to her chin. Her other leg dangled down. She fiddled with the horseshoe, bending it and thinking about the adrenaline rush she got from slashing that cops tire. A smirk crossed her lips. Above her the birds continued to chatter and chirp, making loud and obnoxious caw sounds. Meg didn’t mind birds too much, but crows were different. Sure, she was jealous they could fly, but that wasn't exclusive to crows, most birds could. Crows were too noisy and smart for their own good. She had seen videos of crows learning how to use money to get things, but yet they never knew how to keep their beaks shut.

“Shut! Up!” She growled as she eyed the flock above her head. Come to think of it, if she remembers correctly, the proper name for a flock of crows is actually a murder. Fitting name for the Gothic birds. The birds flapped their wings and shrieked, and Meg just watched with now worrying brows. Crows don’t act like this… not normally. Were they trying to warn her? They were clearly trying to communicate with her, but what did they want? This road was old, did they want her to leave? Rising to her feet again, she looked at the feathered animals above. They continued to scream out, and Meg didn’t notice the fog rolling in at her feet. Her attention was absorbed in the black birds. She watched as they leapt from branch to branch, their now screaming caws hurting her ears. They flapped their wings so hard a few feathers came floating down, and Meg didn’t feel the fog crawling up her so-called thick thighs. She didn’t sense it creeping up her spine. She only noticed the fog once it rose up to her breasts. Her head snapped down, and an insane spark of panic stabbed into her chest. She turned on her heel and went to dash away, but when the fog cleared, she was gone.

__

The only evidence to show that she was ever there was the strip of rubber from a police cruiser tire.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmm, I wonder where Meg went? Lmao. 
> 
> Meg was so much fun to write, I hope you guys enjoyed reading about her. Can't wait to talk to you guys!


	7. Company

Dead. Escaped. Dead. Almost escaped. Dead. Dead and dead again. 

Dwight was laying on his back, blank stare at the forever night sky. He had stopped asking the question _‘why’_ , because he knew he’d never get an answer. He rested his eyes shut under his glasses, trying to think of anything, but nothing came to mind. He focused on his ability to breathe, soft breaths in and out. When the hook goes in it’s so hard to take in air. He turned his face to the campfire, eyes still closed, and let it warm his face. He hasn’t cried in a long time now, he supposed that must be a good thing. His heartbeat was slow, and he was surprisingly relaxed considering his new lifestyle. He was in a trial about an hour or two ago, just judging by past memories on how long an hour felt. The watch he wore was still worthless, either spinning much too fast or not at all. He looked at it on his wrist. Just within a few seconds of staring it’s arms had worked their way around the entire watch seven times. He let his arm fall over his stomach as he looked at the empty sky. 

Suddenly he jerked up. He was on his feet within seconds as he watched a thin layer of fog roll in, just a few inches off the ground. Another trial already? He’s already been in one today? He hasn’t even gone to sleep yet. Did he piss the Entity off again? He didn’t try and kill himself or climb the wall. What did he do? He held his breath as it crept around. He waited for it to rise up and eat him away, but instead it twisted away from him to the vacant log he never touches. It bubbled higher, becoming so thick he couldn’t see through it. It was almost like a dark grey blanket tossed over a pile of clothes. He watched silently, teeth gnawing at his fingers. The fog seemed to flex and undulate, before finally calming and settling back down. His eyes were pried wide open as he watched the fog fade back into the ground, and his heart stopped beating when he saw a red and white tennis shoe from around the campfire. Slowly, he tiptoed around the fire, keeping his distance from the unforeseen presence. When he was finally in the line of view, he literally stopped breathing. 

There was a girl. She was on her side, one leg over the other, but her torso was twisted to lay on her back. One arm was straight out, the other was folded over her stomach like he had just done moments ago. Her red hair was tied off into twin braids that rested on either side of her neck. Just from the looks of her, she seemed sporty. Dwight didn’t know the proper words for her clothes, but she wore some sort of tight vest, he assumed for exercising, and a pair of blue cropped leggings. When he finally regained the ability to breath, his heart was like static it was pumping so hard. A person! A human! A girl! There was somebody else here! His fingers were trembling at his sides. There was somebody else. Now the killer could probably focus on her and not Dwight anymore! Fresh meat and all that, he could finally get a break and look for the hatch and hopefully actually get it! Dwight vaguely was aware of the atrocious thoughts that flooded his mind, but he didn’t care. Get killed more times than you could count and deal with it all alone and watch how quickly you’ll want someone else to take your place. In a haze, Dwight pounced. He was so excited and his mind was thick with disbelief. This had to be one of the Entities tricks, right? There was no way it answered his prayers. He was on the sleeping girl within seconds. His knees at her side and hands on her shoulders. He rapidly shook her, trying to wake the woman. 

“Are you alive?” Dwight loudly exclaimed. The girl suddenly began to surge awake, her brows furrowing and eyes fluttering open. The second she saw Dwight over her, his eyes wide and expression crazy, her fist collided with his nose. The crunch of it was incredibly loud and had him flinging backwards, hand clasped over his now gushing nose. The girl was on her feet in seconds, hands patting her clothes to ensure they were still zipped up and in place. Once she found she was still clothed, her fists were high in the air, ready to throw hands. Dwight, similarly, was on his feet, but he looked to his even bloodier palm and he watched the blood drip down. 

“You hurt me,” he said in awe as he looked to the fiery redhead. She glared at him hard, ready for him to lunge, but instead, a massive smile broke on his face. He exclaimed, “Oh my God! You hit me and it hurt! This is amazing!”

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” She spat. She watched as the seemingly insane man paced around his side of the campfire, darting back and forth as he seemed to not care at all about his broken nose. His hands were lodged in his hair, and she started to take in the sight of just how bloody he really is. His clothes are soaked to the bone, his black dress pants had dried blood caked on it, his shirt was red and brown, hopefully from blood and mud, and not another bodily substance. The little skin he did show;his head, neck, hands and arms, were painted with the red. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Where the fuck is she, and who is this psychopath in front of her? 

“This is great, I can’t believe this,” he was talking really fast, almost like he was talking to himself more than her. “You’re real, you’re really real. I’m not alone anymore, he can back off. You’re real.”

A look of clarity crossed his face and he abruptly stopped dead in his tracks. He watched her like a deer in the headlights, and adrenaline washed into her legs, but she didn’t move yet. 

“Oh God,” his tone turned grave as he snapped his head away from her. “She’s real. Fuck, oh no.”

“Wanna explain to me what the fuck is going on,” she barked at him. He snapped his head over to her and immediately took a step forward, but her readied fists reminded him of his nose, and he stepped back. 

“I’m so sorry,” he muttered. 

“Where am I,” she got straight to the point. 

“I don’t know.”

“Yeah right asshole, where the fuck am I?”

“I’m serious, I don’t know.”

“Alright then,” she glared. “Who are you.”

“Me?” He aimed a finger at himself, an odd look contorting his face. “I’m um...”

She watched the crazy man close his eyes in thought for a moment, and her stomach sunk. It’s either this fucker is so insane he forgot his own name, or he’s making one up. She stepped behind a log to gather more distance between her and the potentially dangerous, bloody man. 

“Dwight! My name is Dwight!” He looked at her with accomplishment. In a whisper he added, “I kinda forgot.”

“Alright Dwight,” she spat his name like it was a curse leaving her lips. “Where’s the road?”

“Road? Oh! No, no, no. There isn’t one.”

“Yeah right fucker, where's the road?”

“No, no,” he shook his head with his hands up in surrender. “You don’t get it, I’ve tried to find one, there isn’t one.”

They stared at each other for a long time. Her ready to fight him, and he was truly a mystery. 

“I’m Dwight.”

“You said that already.”

“I did?” He questioned, seemingly surprised. “I’m sorry. Um. My full name is Dwight Fairfield.”

“I don’t care.” The girl bluntly said. “Do you know anything? Where we are, nearest city- town? Anything?”

Anger rose in her chest when he squeaked out a laugh. 

“What is this fucking funny to you?”

“No, I just- you’re not gonna believe me.”

“Better talk anyways.”

“I’ve tried to find a way out of the woods, but there isn’t one. If you don’t believe me, try for yourself. Go on, just pick a direction and walk straight. Go that way and you’ll come back over here,” he pointed to show the opening straight across. “I’ve tried it all, it all comes back here.”

“Sure,” the girl scoffed, clearly not buying his obvious tale. 

“Go ahead,” Dwight insisted. “Try. You’ll come right back.”

The girl paused for a moment as she thought. The man, Dwight, sat down on a log as he tried to seem as harmless as possible, but she still felt disdain for him. What kind of a freak jumps on a sleeping girl? What a pervert. He’s probably the type to claim _‘not all guys’_ before spiking a girls drink, or the kinda guy who gets dumped and then says, _’nice guys finish last, it’s so unfair’_. She glared at him hard, before stubbornly picking a direction and running off. She dashed through the forest, not even noticing she crushed one of his wooden tee-pees. He gasped when it snapped. She was already long gone, jumping over rocks, bushes and stray branches. She was running at the speed of light. There was no way this crazy fuck is telling the truth. He probably just thinks he can’t get out of here, or maybe he's schizophrenic. _’Yeah, that’s probably it’,_ she thought. 

Dwight had looked at his tee-pee, but decided it didn’t matter. He sat at the campfire, reflecting. There was somebody else here, he’s no longer alone anymore. The thought made him happy, but then the guilt came creeping in. _’Oh God,’_ he thought. _’It’s my fault’_. He had been praying for someone else to come, and his prayers were answered. He was so caught up in wanting to be free from the killer, that he didn’t consider that he was asking for someone else to suffer like him. This girl has no clue, not a single idea what she’s about to endure, and it’s all his fault. Dwight clasped his hand over his forehead. He just made the biggest mistake. The beastly man is going to hunt her down and hook her just like him, maybe even impale her on a basement hook. The phantom pain resurfaced. A series of _‘oh no’s’_ flooded his mind. Not the basement. He’d never wish pain like that one anyone, especially not a woman. The guilt was suffocating, and he was reminded of it once she came out of the woods, just on the opposite side from where she left. 

“What...” she panted, “What the fuck? What did you do to me!?”

“I didn’t do anything! I swear,” Dwight bounced up to his feet, showing his hands in surrender again. “That’s just how things work here.”

“Bullshit,” she spat. 

“No, I’m serious. Do you really think I’d want to stay here? I’ve tried to leave so many times, but it doesn’t work like that.”

“Where are we,” she rhetorically asked at the ground. Dwight watched her from the corner of his eye, too nervous to actually look at her directly. He felt like he might cry from the guilt, but he wasn’t about to cry here, especially if he was going to be trapped forever with her. She very clearly hates him, might as well avoid putting ‘cry baby’ on the list of things to hate about Dwight Fairfield. Carefully, he lowered himself to the ground, sitting down cross legged. He was starting to realize just how bad his first impression was. He had practically tackled her, and acted like he was a menacing hobo, that with the blood caked on him, he didn’t blame her at all for punching him. He was a stranger, a bloody man, and for all she knows, he could’ve had sex on his mind. He threw out his desperation for help and companionship. He needed to backtrack, to make up for his mistake and help her. She needs it more. 

“Hey,” he spoke softly, trying to seem as nonthreatening as possible. She glared at him regardless. “I… I know that this is really… really fucking scary, and I know that I’m just a strange guy, but I swear I don’t want to hurt you or anything. I’m sorry for getting all up in your face, I just got… really excited… I’ve been… dealing with a lot for a long time, and I’ve been alone. I… I just… I’m sorry.”

Her shoulders seemed to loosen, but that furious expression was still strong on her face. “Who are you really?”

“I didn’t lie,” he honestly spoke. “My name _is_ Dwight Fairfield. I used to work at Peak22, just some stupid office.”

The girl seemed to be less rigid the longer he spoke in a calm voice. She still stood away from him, but she listened. 

“Dwight, do you really not know where we are?”

He shook his head. “I wish I did, but no.”

The girl let out a frustrated sigh. 

“Um,” he looked at her, biting his lip nervously. “What… what's your name?”

“Meg.”

“Meg,” he parroted. “Nice to meet you… I’m… _really_ sorry for how I acted.”

She didn’t acknowledge his apology. Instead, she turned her attention to his clothes. “Why are you so bloody?”

His skin paled. 

“Um,” he blurted softly. Meg could hardly hear it. “It… he.”

“What?”

“He… um… He hurt me.”

“He? Who?” Meg’s brows finally twisted from angry to worried. “Who is he?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered, looking down at his feet. 

“Come on,” she groaned. “Fine. _Where_ is he?”

“I don't-” Dwight stopped mid sentence. “He’s not here.”

“Where is he?”

“Meg,” he blurted, a pitch away from a whine. “I don’t know. I can’t tell you.”

“Was he here?”

“No, not exact-”

“Then how can he hurt you if he wasn’t here?”

“It’s hard to explain!” Dwight snapped. His face grew frustrated, but there was still a sad glint in his eyes. “I know a few things, but it’s hard to explain, and even if I did, you won’t believe me!”

“Try me.”

“Alright,” he let out a frustrated laugh. “Tomorrow the sun won't come up. The fog will come and I-you… we? Maybe us, will get taken away. When the fog leaves we’ll be somewhere else, and the mons- man will hunt us down and kill us, and when we die, will come right back here.”

“Wow.” Meg stared at him. For a moment, Dwight hoped that she’d believe him, but he wasn’t so lucky. “You’re really… fuckin’ crazy aren’t you?”

“You’ll see,” he slumped at his log. “He’ll get you and you’ll wake up here.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No. I’m just being honest.”

“Right,” she scoffed. “Got any more honesty up your sleeve?”

“You-I… ugh,” he stuck his hands under his glasses to rub his eyes. He wondered why he ever wanted anyone else here to begin with. He forgot how difficult people were. He pinched the bridge of his nose, letting his glasses fall back into place. “I know you think I’m full of shit, but I’m serious.”

“I believe you,” is what she said, but her tone was painfully sarcastic. He just shook his head and prodded the fire with a sick. His cheek found its way into his palm and he sighed. Even with company, he still felt alone. In fact, he probably felt worse with Megs presence. Meg finally sat down at the log she appeared at, she seemed hesitant to do so, probably because of Dwight, or maybe she didn’t want to get her clothes dirty. She’ll be filthy soon, just like Dwight. She was quiet for only a moment, before speaking again. “So… this guy...”

“Yeah?”

“What’s he look like?”

Dwight tried to ignore the shiver that went down his spine. “He’s big.”

“Uh huh, anything else or is that the only distinguishing feature?” 

Dwight ignored her attitude and pressed on. “I mean- he’s really big. Bigger than me, I mean-” he scratched the back of his neck. “I know I’m not that big, but he’s huge.”

“How tall would you say?”

“Easily over seven feet. I’d say seven foot nine?”

Meg's face was extremely skeptical

“Look I know it sounds crazy but it’s true.”

“Yeah,” Meg said, but he knew she was just brushing him off. Dwight shrugged. She’ll believe him when she sees the beast. 

“He wears a mask,” he added.

“What’s it look like?”

“It's white, with two small eye holes and a big grin. It’s got teeth too. You can see right here on his face,” Dwight touched his mouth and chin. 

“What’s he wear?”

“A leather apron, boots. Pants too. No shirt.”

“Right.”

“Hey, you asked.”

“I’m sorry, I just thought if you were gonna make stuff up that you’d make it sound scarier.”

Dwight sighed. He can’t force her to believe him. He can warn her, but he can't force her. It’s probably for the best that she learns the hard way anyways. He stood up, noticing her sudden tense shoulders, but he didn’t move over to her. Instead he walked straight for his tee-pees. He gathered the one that is now broken by her stomping on it and tossed it aside. Laying on his stomach, he fiddled with some extra sticks, trying to pretend he didn’t feel her watching him. As he worked with the twigs, she spoke again. 

“So. You said something about us dying,” her tone was light, humorous almost. 

“Yeah.”

“Tell me, how will we die?”

 _’Damn she’s got an attitude’_ Dwight thought. “Hooks mostly.”

“Hooks?”

“You know what farmers hang pigs on? The meat hooks?”

“You’re joking.”

He shook his head. “When he finds me-us… we’ll go on those and wake up here.”

“Riiight.”

“Why-” _‘do you ask if you won’t believe me’_ he wanted to say. “Wanna know anything else?”

“Whatever you think I should know.”

“I have rules.”

“Fun,” Meg rolled her eyes. 

“The first rule is stay quiet. Don’t talk, don’t stomp around, don't make any sound. He’ll hear you and be on your ass before you know it.”

“Sounds like a fun time.”

Dwight ignored her little remark. “Second is look down when you walk. He puts bear traps down and if you step on one, he’ll get you.”

“Have you stepped in one?”

“Too many.”

“Then how can you walk?”

“I told you,” he gave a frustrated sound from his throat. “I can die and when I wake up here I’m fine.”

“Then you didn’t die, you must’ve fainted or something.”

“Whatever you say,” he shrugged. “My other rules are simple.”

“And what are they?”

“When you find a locker, hide in it, avoid the basement. Those hooks hurt so much worse, but the most important rule is that if you find the hatch, get in it before he kicks it.”

“The… hatch?”

“Yeah. It’s this… well… hatch that’s about the size of this,” he made two ‘L’s with his fingers and stretched his arms out until he matched the size of the hatch. “When it’s close you’ll hear a weird hum sound, if it’s still open. If you see it and there’s black smoke coming out of it, jump in it and you’ll come out here. Then I guess, you win.”

“Like… a game?”

“I know it sounds stupid!” Dwight furrowed his brows. Though he raised his voice, he still wasn’t yelling at her. “I know. I know. I know it’s dumb, but it’s true, whether you believe me or not. I don’t want you to die like me, I’m trying to help. You can take my advice or not, but if you don’t you’ll have to learn this stuff the hard way like me.”

“Jeez alright,” she hissed and looked away from him. “Don’t get your tiddies in a bundle.”

Dwight actually let out a laugh at that. She turned to him confused, and rightfully so. Dwight rolled over on his back. As much as he was already frustrated with Meg, he kinda missed the dismissive comments and insults people gave. It was better than sobbing in a corner with a masked figure looming over him. ‘Only once’ was the only thing the killer has ever said to him. Other than the Entities voice calling to him in his head, the murderer's voice was the only one he’s heard other than his own. The bad attitude from the girl was honestly kinda nice. It made him feel human again. 

“I’m gonna take a nap. If you want you can try and leave the camp. I tried to leave a lot before.”

Meg didn’t respond as she watched Dwight fall asleep on the forest floor. She was in shock that he just laid down and passed out like he’s been doing this his whole life. She was at a loss, not knowing what to do now. As much as she hated to admit it, she kinda believed the crazy fuck. After all, she had sprinted in a straight line and apparently went in a perfect circle. She’s normally so good with directions, and yet, she came right back to the campfire like he said she would. It has to be some sort of… prank maybe? It must be. He had to be lying, because if he’s not… She shook her head. Rising to her feet, she turned her head in a direction and left. About twenty minutes later she came right back. Once back at the fire, she set out a different way, but sure enough, she was back to the fire. 

“Damn it,” she muttered and reached into her legging pocket. That’s when she finally noticed the absence of her phone, wallet and keys. A surge of anger hit her. She patted herself down, and she didn’t even have her lucky horseshoe. She glared at the sleeping man. She wanted to walk over and give him a soft kick, demand her stuff back, but she kept her cool and firmly said, “Dwight.”

“Mm?” He groaned, still half asleep. 

“Where’d you put my phone?”

“I don’t have it,” he mumbled, never opening his eyes. “I don’t have mine either. It took them.”

“It?”

But Dwight didn’t respond, already asleep. Meg really wanted to kick him now, but instead she walked over to her log and slumped onto her backside. With her elbows on her knees, chin in her hands, she analyzed everything that has happened. There must be some sort of logical explanation. She’s just dreaming, she’ll wake up and be back home, and will have to take care of her mother and none of this will have ever happened. As much as she told herself that, something in her made her hesitant to believe it. She looked up to the sky. It was bare of any details. No clouds, no stars, just a grey haze past the trees. A lump formed in her throat. _’I told mom I love her, right?’_ As she worried about what the last words to her mother were, a silent voice spoke out in the darkness. Unfortunately, Meg couldn’t hear a word of it. 

_**_”Ah Megan. You will learn. You will suffer, but you will learn. Dwight will teach you.”_ ** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? An update so soon!? 
> 
> I was in a big writing mood so bam! New chapter! I hooooope you guys don't mind lol.
> 
> Ah, Meg is a little bit of a bitch, but she's so fun to write lol. I love the back and forth between them. Poor Dwight. Also, R.I.P little Tee-pee, you will be missed. 
> 
> Hopefully I did the dialogue justice here, I'm always so worried about it. Let me know if I did alright. Anyways, I look forward to talking to you guys! Feedback is always welcome! 
> 
> See you soon!


	8. Sicks and Stones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meg has never been good at following directions, especially from hobo-looking men in the woods, but things change.

“A trial is coming.”

“How do you know that?” Meg questioned. She thumbed over a crease in her pants as she looked at the filthy survivor. Dwight’s eyes scanned the trees, and she followed his gaze, trying to see what he saw. She frowned. There was nothing there other than trees and bushes, or at least nothing that stood out to her. Maybe his schizophrenia is kicking in and he’s hallucinating? As she tried to decipher what mental disorder he’s _clearly_ struggling with, Dwight could feel the Entities presence rising, as if it had awakened. He wasn’t sure if ‘awakened’ was a good word. It _felt_ like it was coming out of rest, but hell, he doesn’t know much about the faceless creature. He bit his lip as he shook his head at her question. He scratched at some of the dried blood on his wrist. 

“I dunno. It just feels like it’s waking up.”

“It?”

“Yeah, it… and before you ask, no I don’t know what _it_ is.”

Meg huffed and was tempted to make a snarky comment. She debated on what to say, before settling with, “So… like It from It? Pennywise? The Dancing clown?”

Totally ignoring her comment, he stated, “I need to teach you about the trials.”

“Okay, sure,” she rolled her eyes. 

“So, I’m not exactly sure if we’ll start the trial together or not, but wherever we start, you _have_ to stay quiet and watch your steps. He’ll find you if you don’t.”

“And if he finds me he’ll _‘hook’_ me?”

“Yeah, and then you’ll wake up here.”

Meg rolled her eyes again. The lies this dude’s trying to sell her. She’s not dumb, but whatever. He’s creative, she’ll give him that. Creative is certainly a word to describe him. Crazy is another good word, but hell, if he wants to spoon feed her some lies, why not amuse herself and dig in. Have some fun while she’s at it. 

“So, what else?”

“Well… there’s two ways to escape.”

“The hatch and?”

“The doors.”

“There’s doors? Then why don’t we just leave through that?”

“It’s not that easy. There are these generators. You have to fix them before the doors open.”

“Why?”

Dwight already hated that persistent question. 

“The doors need power to open, and the way to give them power is through the generators.”

“Okay, so what’s easier? Hatch or gens?”

“Hatch, definitely,” Dwight didn’t skip a beat as he leaned back on the log. He scratched his neck and shifted a little awkwardly. “He can kick the hatch shut and it won’t open again, but if it’s open when you find it, all you gotta do is jump in and you’re back here.”

“What happens if he shuts it?”

“Well… when it was just me, it basically meant that I was going to die for sure. The generators are really loud, and he’s too hard to outrun.”

“Outrun?” Meg perked up at that. “I could out run him.”

“No, I don't think you understand. He’s really fas-”

“You don’t know me Dwight,” Meg cockily grinned and crossed her arms. “I was a star on my track team. Nobody can beat me.”

Those words seemed to lodge in his head. He nibbled at his nails in thought. His eyes seemed to be looking through the ground itself, beyond it. “That's… actually kinda good to know.”

“Why?”

“If you’re really fast, you can probably keep his attention on you, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, if you ran around and caught his attention, I could work on the generators we need and then we can open the door and escape!”

Dwight seemed to really believe his tales. Meg thought, without a doubt, that he definitely is schizophrenic or something. Dwight stood up from his log and began pacing, fingers never leaving his lips. His mind seemed to be racing, and Meg continued to sit at the fire, lightly running a finger along the side of one of his tee-pees. Her eyes watched him, back and forth, back and forth. Eventually he stopped walking and looked at the sky. 

“Yeah, it’s about to start soon.”

“How do you know?”

Dwight crossed his arms, and his stare never left the empty sky. His hands rubbed at his arms, and that’s when Meg felt it too; _A cold breeze_ , but not from the outside. From the inside, inside her bones. 

“Remember, stay quiet Meg,” he cautioned, glaring at her.

“I got it,” she dismissively glared back. 

“I’m serious.”

“I. Got. It.”

The following time spent at the campfire was uneventful. There were no more words exchanged between the two. Dwight’s nervous antics grew more fierce. Meg watched him as he nearly ripped his fingernails off his fingertips with his teeth. His eyes were wide and blank, like he was in a different dimension altogether. Watching his nervous frame shrink with anxiety was starting to stress her out too. She really didn’t want to believe him about all the things he’s said, because why would she? What sane person would trust the words of an anxiety ridden, bloody man in the woods? That has _‘no’_ written all over it. However, there was something about him, something nagging at the back of her mind, almost like a whisper. It spoke to her with a tongue so light she could hardly register it. **“Trust him Meg.”**

Then the fog came. 

**_”Auto-haven Wreckers; Gas Heaven”_ **

When Meg opened her eyes, the fog washed away from her and melted into the ground. She spun on her heel, eyes as large as saucers. Where the fuck is she now? She darted her head in every direction. There were walls of crushed cars, built like a fucking maze. Her heart beat hard in her chest. Dwight said the fog would come and take them away, but there was no way he was telling the truth. He’s schizophrenic! A liar! He couldn’t have been being honest. She glanced around, unsure of what to do. As she thought about Dwight, she realized she had no clue where the nerd went. She looked over cluttered junk, hoping to find the crazy fuck sleeping on the ground or something, but he was gone. 

In the distance, she spotted a gas station, and a rush hit her legs. Fuck Dwight, there might actually be someone helpful inside there. Without much hesitation, she broke into a sprint for it. She watched the ground as she ran, just in case a trap was placed on the ground. Not like she believed Dwight, not at all. However, better safe than sorry, right? When she got to the gas station, she slowed into a walk. The building was rather small, but the aura it carried was strong, and horribly eerie. She approached an empty window, and hooked her fingers inside it’s frame. She peeked her head inside. No Dwight or anybody else of value. Taking a step back from the window, she actually took in the sight of the building. The nearby door was boarded up, closed off. Though there was a light weakly flickering above, the place was almost fully encased in shadows. What she could see was clustered with trash and broken car parts. Beneath her new shoes, shattered glass crunched under her feet. The window had been clearly smashed, but it looked like the vandalism took place years ago, if not decades. Where did the fog… Dwight… where did Dwight take her? She peaked her head in the window again, too timid and stubborn to step inside the unfamiliar building. 

“Dwight,” she hissed in a whisper. Why was she whispering? There was nothing to fear. Nothing at all. There was no killer. There was no Pennywise ‘it’ from above. Dwight is playing a prank on her, that’s it. He’s crazy, and he’s playing with her. That’s the only logical explanation. There won’t be a large seven foot fall giant with a machete chasing her and there are no bear traps. It’s impossible. If her legs can make her run as fast as lightning shooting through the sky, then right now her heart is the quaking thunder, burning her chest. It felt like she was having a god-damn heart attack. Where is Dwight? She needed to know where he was. Not even remembering his most important rule, she screamed with all the strength in her lungs, “DWIGHT!”

Motionless seconds passed by, and just as she parted her lips to yell again, her heart stopped. The sound was so small, so insignificant, but it amplified in her eardrums. Just behind her, was the sound of crunching glass. All the hair on her neck stood up like a cat standing on its toes. A chill went down her spine, and a breeze washed over her vulnerable neck, just were her braids parted open. Her eyes were practically shaking. Fight or flight was supposed to kick in, it was supposed to kick in! However, in this moment, she was frozen stiff, her feet planted in the glass below. _‘It’s just Dwight,’_ she thought. _’It’s just Dwight, Meg. It’s just Dwight. It’s just Dwight,’_ she kept repeating it in a hope she’d believe it, but she didn’t. _‘Dwight's a liar. He’s just trying to scare me.’_

As she stood there, the sound of a bell wailing out a sad song made her blood turn to ice in her veins. Her head snapped behind her like it was on a swivel, and the sight before her made her heart stop ticking. A man… no… not a man, a monster; was appearing before her very eyes. Not like he was peeking out from around a corner, no. He was just… appearing, like a shadow that wasn’t there before. It was almost as if he wore an invisible veil that rendered him undetectable, and now he was letting it fall from his shoulders to the ground. Her eyes flicked to the objects in his hands that he clacked together. One was a bell, seemingly made from a human skull and iron. It wailed out with each strike of the other object. The other object he carried was long and curved, the back of it looking like a spinal column and the top had another skull with blades embedded inside it’s upper jaw. It was like a sword or bat, but worse. It was horrible. When he stopped striking the bell, the invisible cloak he wore was gone, and Meg was able to take in his monstrous details. She only allowed herself to notice the mummy like bandages that covered his body and his pure white eyes before she let out a glass shattering scream like no other. 

Then she was gone, with fire under her steps, she bolted from the beast. She’s never ran so fast before. She was like a flash of lightning, blink and you’ll miss her. She leapt over the hood of a crunched car and didn’t even stagger when her feet hit the ground. A few barrels were nothing more than pebbles under her toes as she leapt over them. She didn’t know where she was going, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to let that creature attack her. She could hear it’s animalistic chatter behind her. How could it keep up with her? She was so much faster than anyone else, how is it still on her tail? Against coach Jenny's advice from track; “Don’t look behind you,” she looked over her shoulder at the beast. Regret instantly flooded inside her. Not only was he keeping up, but his arms were nearly flat to his sides, his body leaned forward with each step and he was merely jogging. A series of _’what the fuck, what the fuck’_ s frazzled her mind. This was impossible! There was no way! This was a lie! 

As she sprinted, she noticed a shack standing off in the distance, it was poorly made, but she felt a yanking feeling inside that pulled her towards it. It felt like the whisper, but she didn’t have time to compare. She didn’t hesitate to sprint into it. She dashed into the center of the shack, not much inside it other than old tools and a table. One of the doorless entrances had a pallet standing on its side, the other had nothing. There was also a window to one side, and in this moment it felt like everything in her life led up to this encounter. She was built to last, to endure, to _survive_. As the beast caught up to her and moved to swing, she spun on her heel, flinging herself down to her hands and feet as the creature missed its strike. Like a flash, she sprinted outside, him still on her ass. His second hit was aimed at her back, but she leapt through the window like a hurdle on the racetrack. The weapon clacked loudly against the frame. He may be fast, but Meg is faster, she forced herself to believe. She always has been, always will be. She’s not gonna let this mummified freak beat her. She’s just in a race, she fooled herself. He’s Dana, and she’s gotta beat her all over again. 

His third hit finally struck her, smashing right into her arm, and she let out a shriek of pain. The adrenaline kept her going though, as she sprinted around the building. When his breath came creeping down her neck again, she dashed around to the pallet door, and right when he went to make a fourth hit, she slammed it down, and he let out a growl of pain. She stumbled back, now facing him as he crumpled forward. His long, slender legs struggled to stand tall again and his ragged breathing filled her ears along with her own. He held his chest where the pallet struck him, and with her knees bent, chest leaning forward, she shifted her weight between her feet. A loud mechanical sound was heard from far away, but the sound was even further from her attention. Her arm was bleeding, the red dripping down her arm like a trickling faucet. She clamped her hand over her cut, eyeing his bone blade. A determined smile crept along her face as she glared at the creature. He cocked his head to the side eerily as they stared. 

“Come on fucker,” she spat in a low voice. “That all you got?”

He let out a frustrated sound as he went around to the window side, and outstretched his leg over the edge of the window. He stepped inside, but it took her less than three seconds to leap over the fallen pallet, and their race continued. She jumped over the pallet and window at least ten times before he hissed and stepped in front of the pallet. He cracked his weapon into the wood of it and splinters flung into the air. Meg snapped her head over to the table she saw earlier, scanning the objects briefly before and grabbing a random paint can. The second the pallet crumpled to the ground in pieces, she threw the metal can at the monster's face. Though due to its weight and the beast's height, it just crashed into his chest. Either way, it stunned him long enough for her to flee out the window one last time. She wondered what the fuck Dwight was doing, but she couldn’t dwell on it long because the bell man was back on her tail. She cursed under her breath as she glanced around. _’Where the fuck do I go now?'_

Another sound ringed out, the same sound she heard in the shack. It was like a chime sound, and that’s when it hit her. Dwight must be working on the generators, or whatever they were called. Her eyes flicked over to a pallet in the distance, and as she went to turn, the grass beneath her feet ripped from the ground, causing her to tumble to her knees. That one second. That one mistake. It was all it took for the creature to smash his bone blade into her back, forcing her to scream out as it cut her. She clawed the dirt, forcing herself to crawl away, but his thin fingers found her ankle and dragged her back, and the assault continued. He seemed to make up for all those missed attacks, because he sliced at her legs, ensuring she wouldn’t be able to run him around like an idiot again. Tears spilled from her eyes as she sobbed. It was so painful, so extremely painful. Though, the killer seemed to calm down once her legs were painted red, because his attack finally ceased. 

Just as she thought she’d get a break, he lifted her up by the back of her pants and hoisted her over his broad and boney shoulder. She punched his back, wiggled and squirmed, but it wasn’t enough. His grip on her thigh was too strong, and he walked off with her like a trophy. She remembered the glory of winning all her trophies and metals, and rage washed over her. She wasn’t a prize, she was the prize winner. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be! Things don’t go this way, she’s always the winner! One mistake shouldn't be the de… one mistake shouldn’t screw her over. She bashed her fist into his spine, even going as far as to bite his shoulder blade, but in the end, it was useless. He practically dropped her like a child, his hands hooking under her armpits, and then like a Christmas decoration, she was hung up. The thick metal of the hook sliced through her back, through her ribs and out her chest, and she had never screamed so loud before. Her face contorted into a sob, blood pouring down her body like a waterfall. Her body was rippling with agony, each wave of pain crashing into her with more force than the last. The beast cocked his head at her one more time, before clacking his weapon into the bell, and he vanished right before her very eyes. 

Dwight couldn’t breathe. His vision was dark like a tunnel. Where’s the door? He finished the two generators, the hatch was already shut, Meg is dead, now he’s got to find the door. The trapping killer will be with him soon. Though he hasn’t seen any traps, he was still wary of every step he took. In fact, there had been no signs of the trapping killer anywhere. The monster must’ve been chasing Meg since her first scream. A hushed thought pressed in the back of his mind, but he refused to acknowledge it. Just because there was a new person with him and he was in an unfamiliar place, it doesn’t mean there was a new monster. It’s still the big man, and Dwight refused to think about anyone new. Through the thick lenses of his glasses, he found what he was looking for. The door. He dashed forward and he clenched the lever in his hands. With a swift yank, he pulled, but his heart dropped when the lever didn’t budge.

 _‘No, no’_ , he thought, brows twisting tightly. He frantically yanked at the handle, trying to get the lever down. _’I did the gens, why won’t you open? I did them, why won’t it open?’_ A chill ran down his spine. He worriedly looked back to where Megs' scream came from, and his fingers were in his mouth. _’What if since Meg’s here, I have to do another gen?’_

He flinched as a presence loomed over him. The familiar darkness kissed his ear, and that’s all it took for him to know that he guessed correctly. The Entity left him another gen. Thankfully, he knew where one was, because he saw it earlier. So it didn’t take him long to get to it. As soon as he was on his knees, he pulled out some wires. The presence of the Entity was still hovering over him, and it felt like someone was touching his arms and neck as he worked. He tried to ignore it, but he could feel fingers in his hair, breath in his ear, hands clasped over his own. They weren’t really there, he knew that, but the presence was real. Maybe he is crazy. Maybe he’s completely lost his mind. He trembled as the generator began to groan. The Entity was heavy on his shoulders, the hair on his neck standing on end. In a purr, the darkness whispered, **“So, you’re just going to let her die then?”**

He jumped off the generator as his head snapped back to where her scream came from. She was still alive!? That’s impossible! Whenever he gets hooked, he dies instantly. How come she gets to live? He knows he shouldn’t be envious, but he is. Regardless though, he had to go save her. As soon as he stood on his feet, the Entity melted away from him and he stumbled back. He didn’t realize how heavy it was on his shoulders until it disappeared. Even though Dwight would much rather finish his gen and escape, he didn’t want to anger the Entity like before and as bitchy as Meg is, he couldn’t bring himself to leave her behind. Not even thinking of bear traps, he sprinted towards her general direction. He prayed the monster wouldn’t grab him and hook him like her, but it might be inevitable. 

When Dwight finally found her, she was struggling to keep the Entities claws from impaling her. He’s tried to do that before, but the Entity is much too strong. Was Meg really that much stronger than him? Dwight ran up to her, not failing to notice her clothes now drenched in blood, and her tear streaked cheeks, along with the snot dripping down her nose. She gasped when she noticed him, and she opened her mouth, unassumingly to exclaim his name, but he hurriedly put his finger to his lips to silence her. When the message came across, Dwight's eyes darted around, trying to figure out the best method of getting her down. He quickly grabbed her sides and took in a deep breath. Then, with all his might, he lifted her off the metal, and the action forced a deep, scream like groan from her lips. As soon as she was off the hook, Dwight grabbed her wrist and was about to dash away with her, but she yanked her arm free from his grasp. He turned to her, completely confused. 

“My legs,” her voice quivered. “I can’t run.”

“You have to.”

“I can’t Dwight.”

“If you don’t run he’s gonna-” Dwight froze mid sentence when a bell chimed in. Meg’s face switched from agony to terror in a fraction of a second. So much for, _‘I can’t run’_ , because Dwight practically blinked and she was already kicking up dirt in her path. Dwight glanced over to his left, and his nightmare came true. It wasn’t the killer. It wasn’t _his_ monster. It was someone new. This killer had to be several inches taller than his killer, or at least he looked like it. Maybe it was his long, skinny limbs or the flowing fabric at his shoulders that sort of resembled a poncho, but his height seemed to go on forever. The killer's face looked like it was made of wood, like the bark from a tree, and God, his breathing. It sounded like an animal struggling to take in a breath with water in its throat. Dwight spun around, ready to flee, but a hard hand on his upper arm yanked him back. Before he could scream, he was shoved onto the hook, just like Meg. A shout of pain wrecked his throat as the metal peaked out from his chest. He clutched it in his trembling fingers. The new killer looked him up and down for a second, seemingly memorizing the look of him impaled. Then, a chime of the bell made him vanish without a trace. 

Meanwhile, with Meg, she threw herself down next to an old police car. She gripped her calves, wincing hard at the pain that zapped through. The blade had cut her in several places, like a cat on a scratching post. She assumed she wouldn’t be able to run, but when the killer showed up she zoomed out of there like a bat out of hell. She peeled back one leg of her running pants to catch a glimpse at the cuts, and gagged upon the sight. She could see the inside of her leg. The layers of meat sliced in an unclean fashion. She covered her mouth with her fist as she tried not to puke. How the fuck could she walk? She can see the inside of her leg and yet, she fucking ran away. This is crazy. Could she run because of the adrenaline coursing through her? Or was it because of the ‘it’ Dwight talked about, the Entity of sorts? Why could she walk and run? Sure, it hurt like hell to do so, but she almost felt like spraining her ankle was harsher than these gashes. 

In the back of her mind, she was aware that Dwight had been placed on the hook. A part of her wanted to go after him, but the other side of her wanted to say ‘fuck it’ and ditch him. One seemed more morally correct, but the other had her best interest. It’s not selfish to choose her life over his. That’s called having a survival instinct. Her brain reminded her though, _’he came back for you’_ ’ and the knowledge of that made her twist her fingers in her hair. Now it felt like she was obligated to save him. There were so many reasons why. He saved her, he warned her, he’s been kind to her, but if she goes out there, she’s gonna die. She huffed at the devil and angel on her shoulders. Look at her; legs and chest bleeding, head light from the blood loss and all she can do is debate on saving another person's life. She does have a life to save, but it’s not Dwight's and it’s not hers either. The life she wants to save is at home, hopefully still resting in bed. As her internal struggle continued to battle on in her head, a sound rang out. 

**BING**

**BONG**

Before she could get to her feet, the killer's blade cracked into her head, knocking her down on the ground. The world spun as her chin hit a rock. Hot liquid dripped down her temple, and as she placed her hands on the ground, either side of her body, the monstrous man grabbed her by the back of the shirt and lifted her up. She hardly let out a squeal as he carried her away. Her mind was mush, thanks to the blow. Her hips rested on his boney shoulder, arms swaying loosely and head bowed. She watched the blood drip to the grass. Everything was nearly moving in slow motion, but then the crashing coldness of realization hit her; she’s getting hooked. She instantly started thrashing, doing her best to free herself from his horrible grasp. With each passing step she knew a hook was getting closer. Step. Step. Step. Each stride seemed to cover more ground, and by this time, her whole body was trembling like a leaf. She was not about to let this happen twice, she wasn’t going to let it, it’s not gonna- 

“AAAAAAAHHHHHH” She wailed out in agony. The spider appendages that she was fighting before sprung free from the shadows and before she could swing her arms up in defense, they stabbed into her chest and sides. She could feel the legs impale her and touch each other between her guts. Just like that, she felt her life drip out of her, and as her body was being lifted to the sky, everything fell silent on her cold, dead ears. Suddenly she sprung up. She was panting harder than she ever had before, hands sunk into the dirt, her hair a mess. Her chest rapidly came up and down in staggering breaths. Her wide eyes flicked around before glancing over at the startled Dwight. The moment their eyes met, misery settled in. She flung her hands to her heart, over her breasts, trying to find the punctures. Nothing. She inspected her legs and not a trace of a wound marked them. She was frantic now, heart thundering inside her rib cage. She was at the campfire, right back to where she first woke up. Dwight was sitting at his log, stick in hand from prodding the fire. As she looked back to his shocked, but understanding expression, her bottom lip quivered and tears spilled from her eyes. Withdrawing herself into a ball, she sobbed violently, hands covering her face. Dwight jumped from his spot and fell to his knees beside her. 

“I’m so sorry,” she babbled out between heavy breaths. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay Meg.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay Meg.”

“I’m-I,” she showed herself to him. Her face was about as red as her clothes now, completely slick with tears. Pity rose in Dwight's chest, he wasn’t good at comforting people, never has been. He never had the charisma for it, but regardless, he knows her pain. He was scared to lay his hands on her again, so he glued them awkwardly to his sides. Before he could say anything, Meg continued. “Was that real?”

“I think so.”

She cried harder at that, practically rocking back and forth. 

“Meg, I don’t-”

“What’s my mom gonna think?” Dwight froze as she spoke. “She’s dying. She’s gonna think I left her, th-that I abandoned her. I’d never do that,” she looked up at him with melancholy eyes, as if she was seeking his validation. “I told her I’d be back soon, I don’t even remember if I said ‘I love you’ or not.”

“Your mom knows you love her,” was the only thing he could think to say.

“Does she!? She’s- what if she thinks I ran away?”

“I-”

“I’m only 19. I can’t… I’m so-so-so sorry,” she flung herself into his arms. Dwight gasped and flinched hard, body stiff and rigid like a rock. She continued to repeat apologies, one after another, but at this point, he wasn’t sure if they were meant for him. Delicately, he placed his hands on her shoulders, and the contact made her bury her face in his neck. He could feel her tears raining down on his shoulder, and it took him more willpower than he’d like to admit to not join her crying. 

“What did I do to deserve this?” She rhetorically asked. “I-I know I’m not a good person, but… but I’m just a fucking kid… a kid. I-I’ll try and be better, I’ll be nicer, I’ll be better. I’ll-”

“Meg?”

The redhead stopped rambling and looked up at him.

“I-” he stammered before signing and looking down. “I don’t know what to say, but you don’t deserve to be here.”

“Then why?”

He knew she wasn’t asking him. He asked the same question many times. A simple ‘why’ but he knew that there wasn’t a reason. There was no big reveal, and no answer. The Entity took them because it could, and it’s as simple as that. As aware he is of the fact, he isn’t sure if he has the heart to break it to her. He thumbed over her shoulders awkwardly, trying to find the correct words to speak. 

“I… I know this is really scary. I don’t even know what I’m doing. I’ve been here for so long… but it’s not… it's not your fault you’re here.”

“But… my mom,” she whispered with tears dripping down her chin. 

“You’ll be able to see her again… I hope.”

“No Dwight, you don’t understand. She’s dying. She doesn’t have much time left, she can hardly get out of bed.”

“Oh.”

“What’s she gonna think?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered. Suddenly, with confidence, he gripped her shoulder and pushed her back so the two could make strong eye contact. She looked at him with pouted lips and woeful eyes. “Listen, Meg. Your mom loves you, understand me?”

She gave a shrug. 

“She does. Don’t ever doubt that. Do you love her?”

“Of cou-urse,” she choked. 

“Then I bet she loves you a million times more. I bet she knows you’d never leave her.”

“But… without me… who’s gonna be there for her?”

Dwight hesitated. “I-I don’t know.”

Meg sniffled, and rested her forehead on his shoulder. She cried the rest of the day. Quietly sobbing into his shoulder until she fell asleep sitting up. The entire time, Dwight’s gut swirled with guilt. Why… Why did he ever ask for someone else? He did this. He just couldn’t handle things on his own, and he begged and cried for someone else to come, and his wish was granted. Now look at what it’s done. He separated a young woman from her dying mother. _’God Dwight,’ he cursed his own name, ‘could you be any worse’_? He gently laid her down, letting her head rest on the log. Once she was as comfortable as he could platonically muster, he sat off at his own log. The second his rear hit the wood, he ripped the glasses off his face and placed his palms over his sour expression. He did this. It’s his fault, or so he told himself. Meg _is_ just a kid. A temperamental kid going through a hard time, and he screwed her over in the worst way possible. His hands never left his face as he tried not to cry. It's not all about him, not anymore. He’s the guilty man who brought an innocent girl into this, and now he’s got a responsibility. He can’t throw her in the deep end. He can’t put her through what he suffered. 

Now it’s time for him to be the leader he always wanted to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you enjoyed! I had a blast writing this, and I really hope it shows. I would LOVE to hear feedback on this chapter especially so I know what I did good on and what I can improve on. I really love writing Dwight and Meg, they're so different from each other but so much fun to write! 
> 
> Also, good job Bing-Bong-Boi! You got two kills in your first trial! That's more than Trapper~~ 
> 
> Anyway, thank you all so-so much for reading, and see you soon!


	9. Kick Names and Take Rules

“So what were your rules again?”

“You wanna know them?”

“Yeah,” Meg nodded. She seemed a little more in her head then present in the moment, but Dwight couldn’t blame her. Ever since he first came here, he’s felt like he’s been more in his head than in reality. Despite knowing he’s not dreaming, it felt like he was tiptoeing through the most vivid nightmare. A nightmare that if he took one too hard step,he could make the entire dream-scape come tumbling down on him. He figured it might be a form of dissociation, his brain's way of trying to protect itself. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Meg was going through the same thing. 

“Well… I dunno, I might have to change some now that you’re here.”

“What were they before?”

“Stay quiet, watch your step, hide in lockers-”

“Lockers?”

“Yeah,” he paused from listing more rules. He twisted his palms to face the night sky, gesturing with his hands as he explained. “They’re the big red things, you might’ve seen them. With the double doors?”

“Okay,” she nodded again. “Go on.”

“Avoid the basement. Meg, this one is really important.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because,” he flinched as he looked at his filthy shoes. She raised a concerned brow as he fumbled for words. His hands gripped his arms rather hard, just above the elbows, and his knees were touching. “I… it’s really scary down there. The hooks hurt so much worse.”

“Wait… so like, there’s hooks in the basement?”

“Yeah, four. They hurt so much worse than normal ones.”

“How much worse?”

“Really bad...” he muttered. He stared down at the ground, the burning sensation of past hooks aching his chest. He didn’t speak for a while. Meg was a little uncomfortable with the silence. She wasn’t sure how to console him, or if that wasn’t the answer. She doesn’t know him well enough to decide on what to do. There was a particularly miserable look in his eyes, but he seemed to try and shake it away. Coughing into his fist, he pressed on. “Anyways… try not to get hooked at all… obviously, but avoid the basement by any means. Then lastly, I guess, make sure to try and find the hatch. If it’s open, I guess jump through it or try and find me so we both can escape.”

“What if one of them kicks it?”

“Then we go on gen duty. I only used to have to do two, but yesterday I had to do three. I think since you’re here now, we have to do more.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he shook his head. “It’s not your fault. Besides. When he was chasing you, I was able to get two done pretty easy. Better than when I was on my own.”

“How many did you used to get?”

“One if I was lucky. Two if I was super lucky.”

“Hmm,” she thought for a moment. With a click of her tongue, she added, “so, I run the psycho while you work?”

“Hopefully. Unless you don’t want to.”

“I mean, not like I have much of a choice.”

“Well, I could try and keep the killers attention… I-I don’t know how well I’d be able to do that, but I could try.”

“I guess we’ll just see what works for us. Right?”

“Right,” Dwight nodded with an affirmative look in the eye. She offered him a small, genuine smile as they held eye contact, although he was the first to break it, opting to look down and push his glasses further up his nose. 

“So.”

“So?” Dwight tipped his head to the side. 

“What are they called?”

“What?”

“The guys… monster things? Those psycho fucks.”

“Oh. I dunno. Killers I guess?”

“No, no. I mean, like, do you know their… I dunno,” she frowned and crossed her arms. She facepalmed and added, “I was gonna say ‘their names’, but that’s just fuckin’ dumb.”

“No… I get what you mean, but no. I don’t.”

“Wanna give em’ a name?”

“Name them?!” Dwight’s face twisted to an appalled expression before his lips slightly curled into a grin. “Like-like a dog or something?”

“Might as well,” she snickered as she kicked a leg out. She shifted on her log trying to get more comfortable. “I think I’m gonna call mine ‘Mummy’... or ‘Legs’.”

Dwight was embarrassed that he let out a single laugh. “Yours?”

“Well, yeah. He came with me right? Your’s came with you? Might as well refer them to ours. So what are you gonna name yours?”

“I… I don’t know,” he said, bashfully looking to the side.

“Common. Why not Jason?”

“Jason!?” Dwight snorted and covered his face. “Like Jason Voorhees?”

“Yeah,” Meg laughed. “You said he was a big ugly fuck with a machete. Why not Jason?”

Dwight groaned, but he couldn’t force his smile down. He plucked his glasses off to rub his eyes before setting them back on. “I dunno. I don’t think it suits him.”

“Ah, you’re lame.”

“Well excuse me. If you wanna name him Jason, go for it.”

“Nah. He’s your killer. You name him. I named mine.”

“Trapper.”

“Huh?”

“If you want me to name him so bad, I guess his name is Trapper now.”

“Very original,” Meg gave a snarky grin. The sarcasm in her tone was thick, like slicing through a brick of cheese, but for the first time in a long time, Dwight felt like he was having genuinely fun banter with someone. Meg seemed to be feeling it too. Her posture was much more relaxed, at least, more than he expected of her. Dare he say, but she was acting like he was a friend. _’Damn,’_ Dwight thought. It’s been a while since he had a friend. The last friend he had was Rose, but now she feels like a distant memory. He still wonders how she’s doing, but he figured it doesn’t really matter anymore. 

"Sorry for punching you by the way."

"Hmm? Oh. No. It's fine. I'm sorry for jumping on you. I probably freaked you out pretty bad."

"Eh. I may or may not have thought you were schizophrenic or something."

"Heh. Still think that?"

"Only if I'm a schizo too," Meg grinned and Dwight laughed. There was a pause where neither of them spoke, but this time Meg was the first to break the silence. “So… what’s the deal with the fire?”

She gestured to the cackling flames of the fire pit. Dwight watched the embers float up before vanishing. It faintly reminded him of the new killer, and he fought back a shutter. He bit his lip before finally speaking. “I don’t really know. It doesn’t need fire wood… or anything. It’s been burning since I’ve been here.”

“I wonder how long it’s been burning,” Meg muttered in a tone of voice Dwight recognized. She wasn’t asking or talking to him. She wasn’t muttering to herself. She was talking to… something else. Even if she doesn’t realize it herself. 

“I wonder too. I… I think for a while.”

“Mhmm,” she nodded. 

“So… um.”

“Hmm?”

“Where’d you learn how to run?”

Megs eyes brightened at his question. Her smile crept up her cheeks and she looked at the flames, as if looking into the past. “I always knew how to run. It’s like I was born to run.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve always had… just so much fuckin’ energy. Used to piss off teachers all the time. ‘Megan, you’re being disruptive’,” she quoted in an annoying, nasally voice. She smiled to herself. “Eventually I got into track… and the rest is history.”

“Cool,” Dwight said. The corner of his mouth rose up, and he couldn’t help but admire her. “So… you were like a jock?”

“I guess. More in college than in high school.”

He nodded. “Was it fun?”

“Being a jock?”

“Yeah. Was it how it is in the movies?”

“Uh… kinda?” She shrugged. “I mean, I wasn’t always popular, but then I basically became a track star and everyone couldn’t keep their eyes off me. I kinda just became the center of attention out of nowhere. It was kinda nice, but also really annoying because some people don’t know how to just mind their fuckin’ business, but other than that, it was really fun. Although, for every good thing there was always something annoying behind it.”

“Like what?”

“Well, rumors and snarky comments for one. People giving you shit because they’re jealous and false compliments- But at the same time, it was kinda nice, knowing you get under peoples skin like that.” She paused. Dana’s angry face flashed in her mind, giving Meg a wicked grin. “It was pretty awesome, not gonna lie.”

“Yeah,” Dwight agreed, as if he could relate. “Did you have rivals?”

“Oh yeah,” she laughed. “Oh yeah. Definitely, but it was exciting. Made it interesting, ya know?”

“Yeah.”

There was a gap where neither talked. They simply sat in tolerable silence. Dwight, for lack of a better term, was in awe from hearing about her life. He longed for that kind of experience, but was never so lucky. Though, he figured he didn’t really deserve it. After all, his mother isn’t dying. As far as he knows, she’s as happy and healthy as a clam. After a few more quiet seconds, Meg was the first to break the quiet. “What was it like for you?”

“Hmm?”

“High School? College or whatever.”

“Oh,” Dwight’s face paled as he looked down. His heart gave a pitiful thump and red flags went off in his mind. Scratching his palm, he forced a smile on his cheeks and glued his face to the fire. “It was fine… You know, lots of homework, conflict with teachers, girl drama and stuff. Kinda the typical high school experience… I wouldn’t say it was boring, but not exactly stuff to write home about, you know?”

“You said it,” she laughed and stretched her shoulders. “So, girl drama. What’s that?”

“Oh… um… I-I had a girlfriend… off and on kinda thing.”

“Ah. One of those,” Meg nodded, eyes cemented onto Dwight’s glare that shifted to anywhere but her. She squinted at him, nose slightly crinkling. Dwight was acting weird. Weirder than normal. She had a hunch that what he was saying wasn’t exactly true, but she just shrugged and slouched down at the log. She slid off the log, letting her backside rest on the ground. She shifted until her back was resting comfortably on the log. “Girls that age suck anyways. Did ya date after high school?”

“No. Not really.”

“Why not?”

“Just… didn’t want to really.”

Now there was an awkward silence between them. It made the air thick and tense. Meg cleared her throat to try and ease the tension, but it only seemed to add to it. Dating seemed to be a rather negative topic to him, and Meg regretted asking about it. She leaned a little further back, looking at her bloody red and white shoes before finally speaking up. “Boys weren’t much better. Thankfully all the ones that were assholes knew I could kick their asses, so they didn’t bother me too much.”

Dwight made a sound of acknowledgement, but didn’t respond. That cumbersome quiet filled the air again, and Meg couldn’t help but shift uncomfortably. 

“Anyways, I’m tired. I’m gonna try and hit the hay.”

“I probably should too,” he agreed. 

As Meg shifted to a lying position, she stretched out a leg and bent the other to get more comfortable. Dwight hadn’t moved by the time her arms were crossed behind her head and she looked to the sky. She could hear him shift around until he was finally laying down too. She shot a speedy glance at him, and was met with his back facing her, his nose to the log. Her stomach sank ever so slightly, but she shrugged it away. 

“Hey Dwight?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think there’s a way out of here?”

He didn’t speak for a long time. It seemed like ages that she waited for him to respond. After what felt like forever, he finally said, “I don’t know.”

“...Okay. Goodnight Dwight.”

“Night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoying the newest chapter. It was a little lazy on my part, but I still wanted to get something out. Hopefully the next will be better. 
> 
> At least Trapper finally can be called Trapper! It's gonna take a while for Wraith to get his official name however! 
> 
> Shout out to my best friend for coming up with the name of this chapter. If you don't get it, it's referencing the quote "Kick ass and take names," or something similar to that. 
> 
> Also, I draw a little. I used to draw all the time, but not so much anymore. I want to draw more, so on my tumblr I made a post basically saying I'm willing to try and draw whoever from DBD in a maids dress, and when I draw them, I'll be posting them on my tumblr. If that sounds like something you'd be interested in, here's the link to my tumblr: https://lefthandersruletheworld.tumblr.com/
> 
> Anyways, I look forward to talking with you guys! See you next time!


	10. Unbeatable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo! An update! Finally! It's a long one, so please enjoy! It took forever

“Fuck! Meg,” Dwight quietly hissed between clenched teeth. His heart hammered it’s way into his throat. His trembling fingers could hardly grip the wires between them as he glared at her. The redhead gave an apologetic look before settling down on her knees beside him. She cocked her head at the generator he was working on, a little unsure of how to assist him in his efforts to repair the machine. This is Megs second trial and it just began. She had heard a disembodied voice whisper a name, one that stood heavy on her tongue. Though she refused to acknowledge the voices presence, she had no doubt that it was the Entity calling to her like how Dwight had described. She shifted her weight, trying to make the ground a little less harsh on her knees. She felt bad for startling Dwight, but it was truly an accident, though it didn’t stop him from adding, “you scared the shit out of me”.

“Sorry,” she muttered, trying to keep her voice low. Dwight just sighed and shook his head. He continued to fiddle with a series of nearly indistinguishable wires and bolts. She furrowed her brows as she wondered how the hell he can make sense of it all. Dwight saw her gesture to the generator in the corner of his eye. “So, uh. How do you do… this?” 

He was quiet for an uncomfortably long time. “I don’t really know… I guess trial and error?”

“Fun,” the sarcasm in Megs' tone was thick, but he didn’t care. If this was before her first trial, she probably would’ve said _‘you don’t know very much do you,’_ but now she realizes that saying that would screw her over in multiple ways. Her life depends on Dwight, so she zipped her sarcastic lips.

“Have you seen the killer?”

“No, who is it?” She asked.

“I dunno. I was hoping you knew.”

She shook her head and continued to whisper. “Haven’t heard anything or seen anything.”

“You’re still watching your step, right?”

“Trying to.”

“Good.” 

It was quiet for a while longer and the break of silence made Meg realize she wasn’t helping with the generator at all. In fact, she was just sitting there beside Dwight, questioning him like some sort of narc. For one of the very first times in her life, she was timid to take action, anxious. She’s never been the follower. Truth be told, she’s never been a leader either. She always chose to fight her battles alone, a lone wolf trying to make sense of life. It wasn’t her wish, nor desire, for others to follow in her shadow, but they did. Though that doesn’t make her a leader. More of a trend setter? She wasn’t sure, but what she did know was that following somebody else's lead wasn’t her forte. Her eyes were locked onto Dwight's hands, covered in grease, oil, mud, blood and sweat. The filth wasn’t she was focused on however, it was his ability to just… know what he’s doing. He claims he doesn’t know much, but he’s three steps ahead of her. 

“Just…” Dwight stammered, having taken notice of her hesitation. He paused from his work to look over her shoulder. “See the blue wires?”

“Yeah.”

“Just try and connect those. You might have to twist them around each other or something. If they spark, you’re probably doing it right… I think.”

“You think?”

“Hey, listen, I’m still trying to figure this out too,” he glared. His voice was harsher than she'd ever heard it, a warning. 

“Okay, jeez, sorry.”

“Just...” he repeated a third time. “Avoid the yellow wires, let me do those.”

“Kay?” Meg furrowed her brows as she gripped two blue wires. The majority of the snake-like wires were red and blue, but there was a fair handful of green and yellow ones. There were about four purple ones that she could steal a glance at. She figured the purple ones would be much easier to start with, being that there were so few. Though she’d be lying if she said she’d know exactly what to do with them. Dwight said to connect them, but did that mean just any blue to blue, or was there a specific match to each and every wire? There was a sea of blue wires, it would take ages to handle them all. She supposed time didn’t really matter though. Edging her fingers closer, the tips of the exposed wires touched and weak sparks of electricity jutted from them. Begrudgingly, she flinched at the sight, but an odd wave of hope and accomplishment washed over her. She pressed the sparking metal together more firmly and the sparking intensified and the generator let out a reviving sound. It was already starting to wheeze to a start. Although Dwight deserves most of the credit, she still felt like she was doing some good. 

Dwight shot a glance over his shoulder to the storehouse. His eyes scanned the dreary environment. He couldn’t see anyone and that only seemed to make his anxiety thicken. Was he going to see his monster? The Trapper, or was it going to be the ghostly, mummy guy? He continued staring off in the distance for a few more seconds, when suddenly a loud bang blared in his eardrums and a flash of light blinded him for a moment. He flew his hands up to block the light and Meg let out a rushed and quiet apology. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness again, he dropped his hands and looked at her. There was a puff of black smoke stains on her hands and it didn’t take him two seconds to realize she blew up the generator. 

“Meg,” he quietly whined. 

“I’m sorry okay,” she hurriedly apologized. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“We should go. They're probably coming,” Dwight suggested, but before Meg could respond, she watched in horror as all the color in his face washed away and his eyes widened like saucers. His Adam's apple bobbed with his nervous gulp and the hair on his neck stood tall. He snapped his head behind him and let out a small, panicked sound as he scrambled to get on his feet. She couldn’t even ask what was going on before he yelled “run!!”

Dwight hightailed it out of there, running for his life. She looked in the direction he ran from and her heart stopped beating for a few seconds. There was a massive, hulking man approaching. His strides covered what felt like six feet at a time, his shoulders covered in spikes like some sort of fucked up porcupine. The grinning mask he wore was twisted into something she’d only reserve for her deepest, darkest nightmares. She was frozen stiff. He was closing the distance between them fast, but she couldn’t move. Her nerve was stolen from her, adrenaline refusing to flood her system. His steps shook the Earth as he sped over to her, his breathing sounding like a devil coming straight at her. When he was no less than ten feet away from her, a surge of energy finally struck her. She hardly got off her knees before she was sprinting away like a bat out of Hell. The chase was on and little to her knowledge, the beastly man isn’t one to quit. 

Dwight sat in the storehouse, hiding behind some shelves and worn down crates. He was trembling like a leaf in the wind, practically vibrating. His heart was racing so fast, it felt like he was going to have a heart attack or puke. His vision was going dark and the tears were already welling up in his eyes. Despite his efforts, his breathing was loud and ragged and his knees kept clacking together. _‘Please God’_ , he silently prayed. His panic attack was bleeding into his system, shutting him down and causing him to nearly suffocate from a lack of oxygen. _‘I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. Please, not right now. Please don’t do this now. Please God, I’m so, so sorry. Please ’_. He knew praying would do nothing, it never worked before, but he still tried as his body curled into itself. He has to work on generators, or help Meg, but his body was shutting down like a dying machine. He can't move, think, or breathe. All he can do is sob to himself and hope to whatever God is listening that Trapper won't find him. 

_CLACK,_ the Trappers lunging attack missed the redhead by mere inches. His machete instead embedded itself into a nearby tree. Despite being a runner her whole life, Meg couldn’t seem to shake this big, ugly fuck. This way or that way, over a window or between him and a fallen pallet, he breathed down her neck like a wild animal. She dashed as fast as she could, but it seemed like it did nothing. From the sounds of his footsteps, he was closing in and that’s when she noticed the shack in the distance. It looked just like the one from before and she instantly made a break for it. She hoped she’d get there before he struck her. If she can just make it to the building, she’d be able to distract him long enough for Dwight to finish a generator. 

“Ahk!” She choked when his machete slashed into her back. She stumbled forward in a burst of speed, her back warming due to the blood rushing down her spine. Before he could seal the deal with another smack, Meg vaulted through the window as his blade slashed into the frame. He let out a disgruntled sound as he stepped through the window after her. That’s when he unknowingly walked into her own trap. This was perfect. He may be bigger and stronger, in every sense he may have the upper hand, but now Meg has her confidence back. She ran the long legged killer around like a chicken with it’s head cut off for what felt like hours last time. Surely this brute will be no different. 

Practicing deep breaths, Dwight began to ease his panic attack away. It was still clouding his mind, but he could almost feel the Entities breath on his neck, urging him to work on the machines again. He pretended not to feel it’s ghostly tongue tracing down his back, pushing him forward and edging him on. His heart was still beating a mile a minute, but when his vision was starting to become less blurry, he adjusted his glasses and decided it was time to man up and actually do something. After all, Meg is his responsibility now. He braced his hands on the wall and crates to steady his shaking legs. It took a lot more effort to stand than he’d like to admit, but once he was somewhat stable on his feet, he crept around in the decaying storehouse. 

He hated the way his shoes clacked on the cement flooring, but no matter how slow or lightly he stepped, his dress shoes were just too loud. The sound was blaring in his ears, amplified by the quiet. It didn’t help that the building had a faint light flickering above. Despite being indoors, he’s never felt so out in the open. He nearly missed the generator that was near some more crates. That’s when he noticed something he’s never seen in a trial before. To the left of the generator was a chest. The building was old and decaying, holes in the walls and shattered glass decorating the floor, but this chest was new. Hardly banged up with a sturdy, unbroken lock on it. It was so out of place, it was practically alien. In a flash, Dwight could feel breath on him. The hair on his arms and neck stood on end as he wet his lower lip with his tongue. 

_**“Dwight,”**_ a familiar voice cooed in the shell of his ear, causing him to shiver. **_”Search the chest.”_**

“Wh...what’s in it?” He spoke in a voice so soft he hardly heard it. The voice didn’t speak again, but he could feel the Entity pushing his legs forward, making him approach the wooden box. He practically fell to his knees when it pushed him down. He rubbed at his arms. He could feel it, the Entity. It’s spider legs are nowhere to be seen, but he can hear and feel it and though he can't touch it, it can touch him. That knowledge alone only adds to the hopeless feeling inside him. Dwight pressed on though, completely forgetting about Meg and Trapper. For some reason, all he could focus on was the lock in his hand. He had a sense that he could coax it open if he manhandled it enough, though he wished a simple key was nearby. Regardless, Dwight hooked his fingers around the lock and began to pull, twist and bang it around. _He has to get this chest open. **He has to see what’s inside.**_

When the lock finally gave and clicked open, Dwight shivered in anticipation and anxiety. His hands moved on their own as he shoved the chests lid open and peered inside. There wasn’t much inside. In fact, it was quite barren, but there was one thing in the center of the chest, sitting up **as if it was waiting for him.** It was a med-kit. Dwight let out a soft gasp when he spotted it. The Entities' presence slipped off his shoulders and melted back into the darkness as he reached to grab the item. The med-kit was soft in his hand, at least it was the softest thing he’s touched in a long time. It was the typical red kit with the classic white plus sign, the type of med-kit the media often portrays. He quickly pulled it free from the wooden chest and set it in his lap. He snapped it open and inspected the contents inside. Scissors, band-aids, gauze, aspirin, sterilizing wipes and so on. Dwight had next to no medical knowledge aside from drinking water to help sickness go away faster, or or to eat ‘an apple a day to keep the doctor away’, but despite his ill information, he was immensely thankful for such a find. He quickly snapped it shut and carried it over to the generator. Now he feels a little more prepared. 

“Woah!” Meg flinched back from the window as Trapper nearly cut into her arm. It seems like it’s been forever since her and Dwight got separated, but at least she’s been keeping the giant man busy. She’s been toying with him and running him around the shack like a moron. He’s been progressively growing more frustrated as well, more eager to swing early and a little less concentrated on actually aiming. She already dropped the pallet, but the big guy has yet to smash it to pieces. For that reason, she’s been tiring him out like a toddler on a playground. After what felt like his hundredth missed swing, he let out an irritated growl sound from his throat. Meg stood on the outside of the shack, protected by the pallet between her and him. She was panting like a wild dog. Trapper was inside the shack, shoulders heaving at the constant attempts to knock her down. He stopped chasing for a moment, seemingly to catch his breath. She used this time to do the same, letting her mouth fall open and her lungs to take a moment to catch some air. 

Trapper’s face turned to look at the window, then moved back to her at the pallet. He definitely seems to be thinking about how to get her and a morbid smile crept up her cheeks. Sometimes she’s too confident. Sometimes she’s too cocky. She’s like an elusive fox, always thinking she’s one step ahead of the game, but Trapper knows how to break bones and spirits. He knows how to think out of the box and be tricky. He knows how to _trap_. So, ignoring the smug look on her face, he stepped through the window. She slid over the pallet like the many times she did before and ran to the other side of the shack. The killer seemed to take an extra long time to get to the pallet, which made her wary and confused. Between the window and pallet was the corner of the wall, judging by where he just was, he’s still behind the wall. So in a sense, she’s left blind, but when he walked back around to the window, she figured he was just being an idiot. As soon as he was inside the building, she ran around it with him hot on her heels. She leapt through the window, a little weirded out that he didn’t try to swing at her again, but she jumped over the pallet as soon as he stepped over the windowsill again. Ready to loop him around more, Meg ran into the grass where the blind spot was and then-

**_SNAP!!_ **

“FUCK!!” She screamed, body tumbling to the ground. Ungodly waves of pain crashed into her leg. It radiated with torment and when she looked down, she saw metal teeth clamped into her leg. Dwight’s words echoed within her ears _’remember to watch your step’_. She grit her teeth, but it didn’t stop the agonized sounds coming from her drawn back lips. Trapper shattered the pallet with his foot, a pleased sound rumbling up from his throat. Meg clawed at the bear trap that was clamped onto her leg and Trapper immediately took notice. He swiftly swung his boot, bashing it into the side of her head. She let out a yelp of pain and crumbled to the ground. The world spun around like some sort of carnival ride and her vision darkened at the corners. Just as her vision was nearly completely black, hot white pain flashed in her eyes, making her see red. She let out a deathly scream like none other, scaring all the crows from the area. 

Trapper ground his foot into the metal trap on her leg, making sure his weight was snapping her bone. The redhead cried and sobbed, but her body was zapped of her strength and her arms and legs felt like they were led. Now she was truly at his mercy. After a few more agonizing seconds, he finally took his foot off the trap and pried it off her crippled leg. Just as she tried to crawl away, he grabbed the back of her pants and hoisted her over his shoulder. Though she was dazed, she still knew what was coming next. Despite knowing though, it still didn’t prepare her for the metal being forced inside her chest. She belted out another scream, one that left her vocal cords raw and broken. The hook peaked out from the top of her right breast and she clutched it’s tip between trembling hands. Even though thick tears were beading down her eyes, she tried to force a dominant look of anger. Trapper merely husked out a breathy laugh and just as he went to turn on his heel, the sound of a generator popping on stole his attention. 

Dwight stumbled back from the generator. He didn’t know it would complete just yet and now he just gave his position away. He scrambled from the now roaring machine. He had to get away, he had to run, he had to hide. He had to save Meg as well, but that will have to come later, she’ll understand, right? As Dwight ran, constantly tripping over his own feet, he could feel it in his heart that Trapper was nearby. His heart was thundering and Dwight spun around. He was so frazzled he could hardly hold onto the med-kit in his hand. He tried to locate a locker, but none were found. His breathing began to wheeze with another panic attack creeping up his throat. _’Don’t panic,’_ he told himself. _’Don’t panic.’_ Easier said than done, but that quick reminder did calm him in the smallest degree. With no better place to hide, Dwight ducked behind a boulder that was encased with a few gangly trees. He prayed Trapper wouldn’t find him. That he’d give up on him and just go away, once and for all, but he knew it was unlikely. 

Covering his mouth with his hands, he sunk deeper between the rock and trees. The med-kit was sandwiched between his thighs and stomach. Like so many times before, his knees were drawn up, practically touching his chin. His feet were overlapping each other and his shoulders were hunched, wedged tightly between the gnarly nature. From the back, he was nearly fully hidden. So if Trapper approached from behind and continued walking, Dwight should be in the clear. However, from the front, Dwight is completely out in the open. He prayed Trapper would come from behind. He wished there was a locker to hide in, but he couldn’t dwell on it when heavy footsteps stomped into earshot. Dwight practically swallowed his tongue. He was trying so hard to keep his breathing quiet and in check, but that didn’t stop his lungs from burning. He was practically suffocating himself with his hands. They were clasped over his mouth and nose so tightly he could hardly breath. Trapper was definitely behind him. His footsteps were too loud to ignore. Dwight closed his eyes, silently begging for him to remain hidden.

Each step seemed to drag on for years as Trapper patrolled the area. Dwight was mentally mapping out where he was by the sound. When they grew louder, Dwight let out an involuntary whimper. His hands clenched down on his face harder as immediate regret flooded into his system. The whimper that forced its way up his throat was quiet, completely encapsulated by his hands, but he didn’t think it was enough. It wasn’t enough. He knows Trapper heard it, he knows he did. Trapper is going to find him, he’s going to hurt him. He’s going to slash into him and break his legs. He’s going to pick him up and put him on one of those fucking hooks again. He’s going to put him in the basement and the spider is going to eat him again. He’s going to break Dwight over and over and over and- 

Trappers leg came into view beyond the tree, snapping Dwight out of his panicked haze. He retracted into himself more, tears spilling freely down his cheeks. He wasn’t breathing, not anymore. His breath refused to come out and retreated back into his lungs, choosing to hid there. His eyebrows were twisted and his hands pushed his glasses farther into his nose, slightly pushing into his left tear duct. That pressure only forced more salty tears to spill from his eyes. He could hardly see, but his eyes hyper focused on Trappers leg. He was so close. If Dwight extends his leg, their feet will touch. He looked to the toes of the killer's boot. They were facing away, but that doesn’t mean Trapper won’t be able to see him. All he has to do is turn a little to the left and look down. Dwight’s heart was on fire, but he made no noise. The seconds ticked on like a clock counting down how many crucial moments he has left to live. Each second seemed longer than the last. Trapper let out a frustrated breath and stepped out from behind the tree. Now Dwight can see the rest of his massive frame. Trapper's huge, muscular back was covered in metal spikes like thorns, his shoulders pronounced in undeniable muscle. He’s massive. A beast, a monster. 

More tears spilled from Dwight’s eyes and he downright is about to piss himself. His mind was a constant stream of _’please don’t see me, please don’t see me’_. Trapper glanced around at the forestry in front of him. He looked for the survivor, but little to his knowledge, he’s basically touching his heels. Trapper placed a hand on his hip as he looked around. Something seemed to catch his eye in the distance, because he picked a direction and walked with purpose. Dwight didn’t dare move. He waited for Trapper to be completely out of sight and for those heavy footsteps to fall silent. It was only then that Dwight finally breathed and wiped the tears and snot off his face. He scrambled to his feet, barely catching his med-kit and adjusted the lenses of his glasses. He hauled ass over to where Meg was last heard. Sure enough, handing from a meat hook, was the sparky redhead. He dashed over to her and captured her hips with his hands. 

“Up-” he subconsciously muttered as he lifted her off the hook. She let out a cry of pain and collapsed into his arms. He hardly caught her in time, his arms wrapped loosely around her torso. She was dead weight in his arms and he basically had to keep her lifted to remain standing. She was heavily favoring a leg and when Dwight looked down he finally noticed her visibly broken bone. He muttered a quiet, “shit”.

“Dwight,” she spoke in a strained voice. He could tell she was trying to hold back tears as she bawled her fists into his shirt. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered, gently wrapping one of her arms around his shoulders. Once her arm was tucked around him, he gripped her wrist with one hand and held her hip with the other. The one on her hip had the strap of the med-kit slipped over the back of his hand. “Lets go over here, I’ll… I’ll see what I can do about that leg.”

She didn’t say anything, but she made a small sound of agreement. He tried to ignore the way her face paled with each staggering step. Together they hobbled behind a broken down building area. A barrel was in the center of the ruins and it was lit on fire with old debris acting as the kindling. It provided a decent light, good enough to inspect her wounds. Dwight tried to gently slide her to the ground, but that didn’t stop her from sucking in a sharp breath in pain. He apologized quickly as he settled onto his knees. He set the med-kit down on the ground and popped it open. Suddenly, he felt really overwhelmed by the varying objects inside. He’s no doctor. He doesn’t really know what to do here, but he figured something was better than nothing. Just as he was about to grab her pant leg to roll it up, he realized her open chest wound was the larger timely obligation. He reached for her shirt, but then flinched back. 

“Can I?” 

She nodded, bracing herself for pain. Dwight tenderly grabbed the zipper of her runners shirt and zipped it down ever so slightly. With each new inch of skin he saw, the more dirty he felt. It felt like he was violating her. Despite his disgust in himself, he unzipped her shirt until the top of her sports bra was exposed and the wound was in sight. He gently slid her shirt and bra strap off her injured side. The action was so timid it nearly tickled, but the pain out weighed it all. The wound was gaping and angry and truthfully, he wanted to puke when he saw it. His eyes flickered up to Megs ocean eyes. Her expression was shockingly calmer than he expected. She seemed out of it, but still present. Maybe she was trying to zone out the pain. 

“I have aspirin,” Dwight muttered. 

“Gimmie.”

He reached into the med-kit and pulled out the new box of aspirin. He gathered two pills in his dirty palm and handed it to her. 

“I don’t have any water.”

“S’kay,” she grumbled, sitting up a little further. She shut her mouth and started making weird motions with her throat. He looked at her confused and after a few seconds she plopped both pills past her lips and threw her head back and swallowed. It took Dwight a while to realize she was gathering saliva in her mouth to help the aspirin go down. Once she let out a sigh, Dwight shakily searched in the medical box and found a small needle and hardy thread. He gathered them into his palms and flicked his eyes back to Meg’s bleeding chest. 

“I gotta stitch it… but I don’t know how.”

“I don’t-” Meg began but winced in pain. Her face crunched and she shifted further against the broken wall. “I don’t either.”

“Do you know how to sew?”

“Not really,” she breathed. “You?”

“No,” he shook his head. “But my mom used to crochet… so I guess it’s kinda the same?”

“Dwight, can you just- please hurry?”

“Right, right, right. Sorry,” he babbled. He turned his attention to the needle and thread in his hands. He struggled to unwind the string and his trembling hands struggled with threading the needle, but soon he had it prepared. His clueless nature screamed ‘I have no clue what I’m doing’, but at least he was trying. With the needle in hand, he shuffled closer on his knees towards Meg. Her breathing microscopically picked up in speed when she saw the needle. Her throat quivered at the sight. Dwight placed his free hand on her shoulder and the other hand with the needle hovered over her chest, just above the wound. His hand inched forward, retreated, then moved back. It was clear he was scared to act on this. 

“Dwight,” she snapped. “Please.”

“Sorry,” he blurted. “I’m just gonna-” he breathed as he finally sunk the needle into her skin. She winced, but didn’t pull back. His eyes were everywhere, the wound, his hands and the needle, her face. He was frazzled but doing his best. The needle pierced into the opposite side of the wound and with a slow but sturdy pull, he began to force the wound shut. 

“Fucking Christ,” she hissed. 

“I’m sorry.”

A few more pokes and pulls forced her to add, “mother fucking-”

“Sorry,” Dwight flinched as he worked. Meg’s fist found its way to his shirt sleeve and she held on it for dear life as he prodded at her like a sleeping bear. 

“Shit. Are you fucking done yet?”

“Almost, I-”

“Enough. I’m done.”

“But-”

“Move. On,” she growled. She really didn’t want to have this attitude with him, but she was in so much pain it was unbearable and his slow ass pace was really testing her patience. 

“Okay, I’m sorry,” he quickly finished up the final pull and tied off the thread. Once it was somewhat secure, he leaned forward. He pressed his face in her chest and bit the string. He swore he saw scissors in the med-kit earlier, but there was too much going on in his head to even bother looking for it. The thread broke and as soon as it went slack on the needle, he backed off and looked at her. “Should I get the backside?”

Meg’s face was that of rage, but she bit her tongue and nodded. Neither spoke as she turned around. Her leg continued to scrape on the ground and she couldn’t keep quiet. Each little sound she let out, Dwight cringed. Once her back faced him however, he quickly pulled her shirt down and got to work. It hurt more from behind. The nerves on her back were on fire and each stab of the needle made her clench her fists a little tighter. Although, it seemed to go by surprisingly quickly, because soon she felt Dwight’s breath on her back and the sound of the thread breaking let her know he already finished up. 

“Should I sew your leg or wrap you up?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed. The pain was calming down now that he wasn’t poking her with that damn metal sliver. 

“I… I think I’m gonna put some gauze on your chest first… is that good-okay?” 

“Just do it.”

“Okay.”

Dwight clumsily dropped the needle and thread into the box and clutched the fabric wrap. Hastily undoing it, he held up the tip to Meg's face. She took it from him and held it to her boob while Dwight timidly lifted her arm, exposing her armpit. He sat facing her side, so he could properly wrap both wounds with the gauze. Under her armpit, around her boob, over her shoulder and down her back. Again and again, he wrapped her up and soon he tucked the loose ends into the wrapping. He slipped her bra back into place, followed shortly by her shirt, then zipped it up for her. He leaned back to eye his work. Meg seemed to be much calmer now that she wasn’t actively bleeding out anymore, at least from her chest and she turned to steal a glance at his pale expression. 

“Thanks.”

“Y-yeah. Leg now?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, turning around and lifting her leg to him. He flipped his legs around to sit cross legged and gently placed her leg over his knees. She still growled in pain, but it was less notable than before. Dwight tried to ignore the feeling of the Entity staring down at him as he inspected her horribly crippled leg. There was no way he’d be able to fix the bone, but a shred of him suggested that maybe he won’t have to. He looked up to the sky. The ominous black smoke swirled above and he could hear the Entity cooing at him. He couldn’t recognize what it was saying, but he knew the meaning. It was a wonder if Meg could understand, let alone even hear the Entity. He eyed her to find her focus on him, specifically his hands. Dwight shook the Entity from his mind and took out the needle again. Meg quickly shook her head. 

“No, just the gauze.”

“But… I have to close the wounds.”

“I don’t want it.”

“But it’s just gonna keep bleeding?” Dwight didn’t mean to make the question, but his upward inflection forced it to become one. He watched Meg's face carefully as she analyzed his words. She was glaring hard at her leg. Her brows were tense and her lips were sealed in a tight line, but eventually she caved. 

“Fine. Make it fast.”

“I’ll try.”

He stitched her up as she bit her lip. She was trying hard not to snap at him or even kick him. Despite his best efforts to be gentle about it, he was still inflicting pain on her. Her reflexes wanted her to smash her foot into him and kick him off, but she swallowed it down and let him work. Dwight was thankful she didn’t ask him to reset the bone. Maybe because it would’ve been too painful, or maybe she’s starting to pick up on the Entities presence overhead. He worked fast, hands untrained but still trying to be careful. Each poke of the needle made the redhead angrier, he could tell, but soon the hard part was over and he lowered his head to her leg and bit the string. As soon as he did that, she threw her head back as she stared open mouthed at the dark sky. She sighed and Dwight just nodded as if he understood. He lifted her leg and took out another roll of gauze. He wrapped it around her leg. Around and around. Once completed, he took the fabrics ends and tucked them away. Now her leg was fully patched up. 

“Wait-” Dwight whispered, still looking at her leg. When he first unhooked her, her leg looked like a mockery of a canines leg. Sort of like a subtle ‘Z’ shape in a way, but was snapped outwards so her foot would be more to the outside of her body, rather than in and forward. Now since the gauze was on however, her leg was undeniably straight. He wanted to tell Meg, informing her that he didn’t fix her leg to that degree, but he figured that would be worse. Letting her believe he was somehow able to straighten her terrible leg with gauze alone didn’t seem like too much of a sin, but sharing his theory that the Entity somehow merged her bone back into one piece would probably worsen things. So he zipped his lips and made up something else to say. “Can you get up?”

“I don’t know,” she tried not to whine as she rubbed her leg. The look on her face said that she wasn’t in a ton of pain anymore. It could be the aspirin, but Dwight isn’t so naive. “I might.”

“Can you try?”

“Give me a minute,” she snapped at him with a glare.

“Okay,” he threw his hands up in surrender. “Okay, I’m sorry.”

She shifted, trying to find the best way to get up. Dwight rose to his feet and extended a friendly hand and her bad mood nearly made her smack it away, but instead she took his palm into hers and let him yank her to her feet. She leaned up against the decaying wall, letting it hold a fair share of her weight. She tried to keep the pressure off her leg as she watched Dwight drop to his knees to gather everything in the med-kit and then stand up with it firmly in his grasp. She timidly set her weight on her weak leg and was shocked when it supported the weight of her body. It still hurt, but not enough to make her wince or cry out in pain. That’s when she noticed the shape of her leg. It was no longer bent in an unruly manner. It was firm like a post and she looked up to Dwight with questioning eyes. 

He turned his face away and cleared his throat awkwardly, “I don’t-.... so… um. Feel better?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool- I mean… ni… good,” he flushed slightly at his stammering and finally looked back at her. “So, we have two more generators to do.”

“Two!?” She whispered in a spiteful and shocked tone. “I ran him around forever, you couldn’t get more done?”

Okay, that hurt. He was never going to inform her that while she was busting her ass keeping the killer's attention, he was off in a corner crying. Instead he went for a lie, “I couldn’t find one.”

“Dwight,” she exclaimed in a frustrated and whiny tone. 

“Listen, I’m sorry okay. If you can run him around a little bit longer I’m sure I can-”

“Are you fucking serious!?”

Dwight swallowed hard at her outburst. Her face was contorted like a demon, red, hot and angry. He flinched away from her and turned his head to the side, “I’m sorry I-”

“I’m not fucking doing that again Dwight! Did you even see what fucking happened to my leg?”

“But it’s not broken anymore,” he muttered dismissively. 

“I don’t care! If you want him ran around so bad, you do it!”

“Meg, you’re starting to yell. We have to be qui-”

“I don’t care,” she spat. Despite her anger, she did listen and lower her voice. “I can't believe you.”

“Sorry,” he looked to his feet as he held his shoulder. “But we need to get those gens done.”

“And we’ll get them done, but I’m not putting my neck on the line for you,” she snapped. As she was about to chew him out more, a massive shadow came creeping up from behind Dwight and like magic, her anger was gone and she quickly shouted, “Behind you Dwight!”

Dwight spun his head around to find the hulking killer mere feet behind him. He let out a shriek of terror, barely noticing that Meg already bolted. He rushed forward, blindly trying to find direction to run to. He had no clue where he was going, but like hell he was gonna stick around. Trapper was hot on his heels and Dwight did his best making distance between them. As he sprinted, he noticed some more ruins and thank his lucky stars, because there was an empty window just waiting to be jumped through. Dwight dashed with no intent to stop. The second he was at the window, he leapt through. Trapper slashed his arm on the way out, but Dwight’s been through worse. He continued to run, searching for a pallet or something and to his far right he noticed one in a pile of metal and boxes. He took a sharp turn and ran for it. As he sprinted, he must’ve subconsciously seen a bear trap, because he jumped over a patch of grass involuntarily and a heavy grunt from the killer let him know he narrowly escaped a broken leg. 

Dwight continued running, but he looked behind him briefly to check if his accusation was right. There Trapper was, hunched over and staring at his own trap. To Dwight’s horror, he watched as the killer easily pulled the bear trap off his leg and his wound was less than irritated. Dwight was so focused on the terrible sight that he stopped running for a second, but as soon as the killer's hulking form began to grow bigger as he was rising to his full height, Dwight ripped his gaze from the beast and continued sprinting. Just like that, the race was on again, but Dwight wasn’t a racer. He’d be the guy on the side of the stadium selling pizza slices and hot dogs for one or two dollars each. Trapper would be the guy who threatens to beat the crap out of him because he doesn’t have sauerkraut to go on his hot dog. 

Just as he went to pallet stun the killer, he felt a gnarly hand on his forearm and suddenly he was slammed to the ground. He fell chest first, his chin knocking into the dirt. Trapper had a hold of his left arm and was twisting it behind his back. Dwight’s legs kicked out, trying to find purchase in the dirt, something that could get himself out of Trappers grasp. As he squirmed, he could feel Trappers knee and foot bracketing his hips from either side. Dwight tried reaching for the pallet to help him, but from this angle, the damn thing was too heavy to even budge. The killer twisted Dwight’s arm harder, now pressing his knee into his back. Dwight shrieked out, sobbing in pain. Then finally, Trapper formed a fist in his hand and hit Dwight hard in the back of the head. 

There was no sound as Trapper got off him. Dwight couldn’t see or move as he was lifted off the ground. He couldn’t even hear the second generator going off in the distance. His vision was unfocused and extremely blurry. He watched a pair of arms sway loosely as the ground seemed to be moving on its own. Completely deaf and delusional, Dwight tried to reach out for the fuzzy arms he saw, but just as he lifted his arms to grab them, they moved and lifted out of his reach. He tried again, reaching to grab the matching watch the arms shared with him, but they seemed to do exactly what he was trying to do. Poor Dwight was too dazed to realize he’s trying to grab his own arms. He felt large hands grab his sides and lift him up and he felt like he was flying for a moment. Maybe he’s being carried by an angel of some sorts? Maybe it would take him away to a happier, warmer place. A place full of sunshine and cool beverages, maybe even a comfy bed if he’s lucky-

He screamed when the hook speared his chest. All the sound in the world came crashing back into his ears, but the sound of Trappers breathing was the primary thing he could hear. Only seconds ago he was in a blissful, thoughtless place and now he was snapped back to reality with a meat hook in his chest. Dwight’s legs kicked weakly out. His chest radiated in pain. His blood dripped down from his chest and into his pants. All he could do was hang and hope that Meg will come back for him. Seconds turned to minutes and Dwight's lips trembled when he noticed an all too familiar shadow overhead. He glanced above him and saw spider legs creeping up behind his head. Unlike the many times he endured before Meg, this time the spider legs were half formed. Picture a burning sheet of paper, how it turns ashy and crumbles away. Now put that image in reverse and you'll have the sight Dwight saw just about a foot above his head. The spider legs didn't just show up, they're appearing like the ghostly killer of last trial. 

Abruptly hands found their way under his armpits and in his startle, he let out a yelp. Meg hushed him with a hiss as she forced him off the hook. Mirroring her from earlier, he practically fell into her arms. She hardly let him stand on his own before she started tugging him away. He could hardly hold himself up, but he knew the danger that lies ahead, so he forced himself to trot off with her. They didn’t get very far however, because not long after finding what they considered an ‘alright’ hiding spot, Trapper came stomping back. Meg practically left Dwight in the dust and the poor guy didn’t get far before Trapper slashed him in the back and knocked him down into the mud again. He quickly yanked Dwight over his thorny shoulder and carried him back to the hook once again. 

“Shit-fuck,” Meg whispered as she hid behind a boulder. She watched as Dwight kicked and screamed before being thrown back on that same damn hook. She was cursing in her head. She didn’t know what exactly she was cursing. Trapper, The Entity, herself, even God for Christ’s sake was a viable answer. She was just scared, angry and completely at a loss of what to do. Does she go back and get Dwight? Does she leave him? They haven’t bothered looking for the hatch this match, would it be too selfish to go try and find it now? When Dwight let out another scream, it tore her from her internal debate. When she refocused on him, she gasped when she saw massive spider legs trying to inch closer to him. He had his hands gripping one of them, clearly trying as hard as he can to keep it at bay. That sight alone made her panic. _Shit_ , she thought. Does she go get him now or would it be safer to just leave him behind? Does Trapper expect her to go get him? She could always go finish the last generator. If Dwight is correct, there's only one left. Her stomach was low as she tried not to stress puke. 

Cursing at herself, she sprinted out from her hiding spot and rushed forward to Dwight. The spider legs were trying to impale him, one coming at him from each angle. When she touched his sides however, the legs immediately retracted and disappeared from the darkness as if she spooked it. Meg shook her head as she ripped him off the hook. She tried to ignore the wail of pain he let out as she tugged him away. He stumbled, barely able to follow her. Once they were hiding away in the shack, Meg quickly unbuttoned Dwight’s shirt. He didn’t say anything as she opened up the fabric and practically ripped it off his body. There were layers of caked blood on his chest and stomach. She tried not to think about the torture he must’ve went through alone. Instead, she unfastened his tie and forced the once white shirt off his arms. Now with his torso bare, she could get a good look at the wounds. When she looked at the puncture wounds where the hook stabbed him, there was a sudden presence looming over her shoulders. 

It was cold and heavy. The hair on her neck pricked, ears perked like dogs trying to listen.  
Though she couldn’t hear it per-say, she could sense there was breathing, right over her right shoulder, just about in her ear. She wanted to look at it, to try and see it, but it felt like something was holding her head forward, making her look at the blood soaked injury. Dwight was hooked twice, but the ominous thing about the injury was that when she looked at the two new wounds, the first injury was just about sealed shut. The second was still gaping and angry, but the left was clearly healing. It was undeniably smaller than the second one. The first was still an open wound, but not nearly as deep. It was still bleeding, both of them were, but… she shook her head. This doesn’t make sense! He was stabbed through the chest! Impaled by a fucking meat hook… twice! There was no way it could already be this closed up. There’s no way. As she trembled in disbelief, the presence crept closer towards her ear. It kissed her cheek as it spoke, **_”Are you just going to let him bleed out or are you going to do something?”_**

In a rush, she surged forward. She glanced around for his med-kit, but he must’ve dropped it when Trapper attacked him. With the presence rubbing down her spine, she fumbled. She grabbed his discarded tie. She tied the center in a knot, then ordered him to turn so she could see his side. He obeyed, shifting awkwardly to let her see both sides of him. She didn’t bother warning him of the oncoming pain when the creature was breathing down her neck. She quickly set the knotted part over his more open wound and then wrapped the loose ends around his ribs. He slightly lifted his arms to give her more access. Once both ends were around his back, she tied it off around the wound on his back. He covered his mouth to hold in his cry. Meg pretended not to notice that the first wound on his back was completely gone as she tightened the tie around his body. He tried to push her back, but she didn’t stop, not until she knew the tie was secure and that he wouldn’t bleed to death. Only then she backed off. She slumped back against the table, catching her breath. She didn’t even realize she stopped breathing when the presence showed up. Now it’s gone and she’s left dazed and confused. 

“O… ow,” Dwight finally muttered, holding the knotted ball on his wound. His eyes were cemented onto the cracks in the wooden floor boards. He didn’t expect Meg to reply, so when she didn’t, he wasn’t shocked. He slowly grabbed his shirt and slipped it on over his shoulders. He didn’t bother re-buttoning all the buttons. He left the top three popped open. He slumped into some junk in the shack, letting his head fall back on the wall. Neither survivor spoke. They just listened to the sound of the other breathing for a while. Meg finally moved, opting to sit beside him. Her thigh touched his as she mirrored his pose, letting her head rest on the wall. 

“This uh,” she stammered. “Shack? Um, what’s it called?”

He looked at her with a nearly judgmental, disbelieving expression, but he quickly dropped it and looked away, slightly shaking his head, “-nt know.”

“These tools,” she gestured to the random screwdrivers and bolts scattered around, “think they’re Trappers?”

He shrugged, “probably.”

“Hey. Why don’t we call this killer shack?”

"Why?"

"Because it's what I've started calling it in my head and… well, so we know what we're talking about." As she spoke, she turned on her knees to face him. "Think about it, we can use it as a way to… I dunno, let each other know where we'll be or where we need to go. 'Meet me at killer shack' or 'I'm gonna run the killer to killer shack, don't go there'. Ya feel me?" 

Dwight nodded. 

"And it's not just Trapper's shack either. I saw one with my killer too. They both have one."

"That's good to know… but what if they figure it out?"

"That we named it? Good for them."

"No-no. I mean, that we're using it to plan and stuff."

"Oh… well, whatever right? They figure it out, we just change the name or plans. Easy as that." 

"Meg-"

"It's a good idea."

Dwight paused, looking in her eyes. They were confident and determined. He was hesitant, but her blue eyes were strong and that made him remember that he isn't. Her strength was infectious almost. She was so sure of herself and he'd be lying if he said her eyes alone didn't make him trust her judgement. 

"Alright," he sighed, looking around the disheveled shack. "Killer shack it is."

"Yes." Meg whispered in victory. “Now there’s one gen left, right?”

“Did you get one done?”

“Yeah, when Trapper caught you the first time.”

“Oh,” he muttered, trying not to think about the beast. “Then yeah, one left.”

“Think we can do it?”

“Maybe… but we both can’t work on it.”

“Why not?”

He looked at her with an odd expression before replying, “cause we’d both be sitting ducks just waiting for him?”

“...Fair point.”

“If… if you still can’t run him around… I could probably work on the generator while you go wait by a door. Then you can open it and we can escape.”

“But you said he can hear the generators?”

He shrugged, “yeah. So?”

“So? He’ll find you,” Meg urged. Her brows were furrowed tightly as she stared at him. Just from his posture, she could tell he was defeated. He still seemed like he wanted to try and escape, but his shoulders didn’t carry endurance. They weren’t confident and strong. That’s when it clicked. He was basically suggesting his own suicide so she can escape. She was appalled with how quickly he gave up, but then Meg was struck with the memory that he’s not a racer like her. He’s not trained to persist, to never give in and when that realization hit her, she second guessed herself. Earlier she gave into her fear and pain. She let Trapper scare her into submission and figuratively win the race. She refused to run because she was scared. Her brows furrowed tighter and her expression turned from concerned to anger. In the back of her mind, Dana’s devil face appeared. Her wicked grin crept along her cheeks and Meg could hear Dana’s disgusting voice say, **_“jeez, what a loser.”_**

Meg was on her feet in seconds. Dwight stared up at her a little startled. Her fists were tight at her sides. She glared at the ground. 

**_”Oh wow, look at her go. I’m surprised she can run so fast with those fat thighs.”_ **

**_”Aw, whatsa matter Dare Damsel? Got nothing to say?”_ **

**_”Hey! Hey Meg! Where you going? Aw, did I hurt your feelings? Come back, I just wanna talk to you.”_ **

Meg grit her teeth, trying to get her mind away from that horrible girl, but the more she fought, the more she heard her. 

**_”No wonder why her dad left, I would too if I was him.”_ **

**_”She’d be nothing if Coach Jenny wasn’t holding her hand. She’s not even that good.”_ **

**_”Oh Meg! How’s your ankle doing? Hurts pretty bad huh? Why don’t you sit this next race out, you’re so clumsy you’d probably break your leg.”_ **

**_”Nice jump fat ass!”_ **

**_”Is that really how fast you can go? Pathetic!”_ **

“Meg?”

The redhead snapped her head over at the timid man, eyes narrow and face contorted with rage. Her expression microscopically softened when she saw Dwight. She quickly tore her eyes off him. Her blood was boiling. No. Its molten lava, burning her core. She could hear Dana mocking her, laughing. **_What a loser. Dana never knew what Meg was capable of, what she could do._**. Meg is a lot of things. She’s arrogant and cocky. She’s mean and packs a bite to her sour words. She has good qualities like her mind and her strength, her undying will to persist, but there is one thing that Meg is not. Megan Thomas is not, was not and will never be; a loser. 

“You’re good at gens right?” She said in a dark tone. Her voice and her expression made an intimidating combo.

“Yeah… kind o-”

“Go do a gen and open the door.”

“Meg, what? What about the plan?

“I’m making a plan. You do that last gen, I’ll run that fucker around.”

“B-but earlier you said-,” Dwight stammered, but Meg cut him off. 

“Never mind what I said!” Meg yelled in a hushed voice. “You work, I run. Got it?”

“I-” Dwight was about to protest but then stopped and nodded. “Okay, but what if you get hurt?”

“You were hooked twice and you’re still alive right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I was hooked once. If I get hooked, open that door and come back for me, okay?”

Dwight nodded and approached her. Though her face was still angry, her unwavering confidence and determination was starting to infect him too. He squared his shoulders and nodded once again. 

“We got this,” she stuck her hand out. He shook her hand and the two wordlessly parted ways. Dwight went straight for a generator, while Meg ran out. She was careful of her footing as she ran. Soon, she came across the killer patrolling two generators. He glanced over and noticed her. She gave her signature grin, her nose wrinkling as she did so. Her heart was racing, blood pumping, fingers slightly trembling, but she knew she could do this. Meg is not a loser, no matter what Dana said. Dana knows nothing, she is nothing. Meg is strong, capable. She’s a winner and will always be. Nobody can break her or beat her. 

“Hey fucker!” She yelled at Trapper. He turned and faced her, machete drawn and ready. “Ready for round two!? Or are you too pussy!?”

That seemed to be enough, because Trapper charged at her. She spared no time to start sprinting. She’s got this. Trapper is a cunt, just like that bitch. Dana was too much of an idiot to know she should be fearful of Meg. Trapper is the new Dana and Meg is about to become his worst nightmare. She’s gonna make sure of it. Meg dashed around, letting Trapper stay hot on her heels. The adrenaline was pumping in her body. Everything was falling into place. Stadiums full of people are cheering her on. They scream and yell her name. She’s in first place and she will always be there. She belongs in the front with a gold metal around her neck. She was born to run and Trapper will never take that from her. 

“Missed me fat ass,” she barked when he swung his weapon in a tree. He growled as she continued to taunt him, “ya know, ‘should probably work on your aim. It wou-”

She stopped gloating when he nearly cut her hand clean off her wrist. She bolted like lightning away, leaving him in the dust. He groaned in frustration as he followed suit. As she ran, she couldn’t stop the words of encouragement that flooded her mind and she forced Dana's cursed face in her mind. Her dumb fucking face, that ridiculous expression when Meg crossed the finish line. Meg locked that face in her head as she ran, using it as fuel. The Entity was purring down her spine, kissing the ground under her feet. She knew it was pleased, but at the moment she tossed the acknowledgement aside. Right now it’s about her and the killer, her and her job. Her mission is to win and she won’t fail. 

After about ten minutes of her jumping like a rabbit over every possible obstacle, she went to jump again. Neither foot was on the ground, the leg in front of her fully stretched out and ready to hit the grass, the other leg bent so she wouldn’t slow down. Before her foot could touch the Earth, a hand clasped over her braid and yanked her back by her hair. She let out a gasp of pain and Trapper slammed her into the ground. Her face collided with a rock in the dirt, her nose directly taking most of the impact. It broke instantly, the cartilage making a sickening sound. Even as blood dripped down her lips and chin, she refused to give up. Dwight is counting on her. She needs to buy him more time. She got on her hands and knees, ready to bolt again, but she cried out when Trapper smashed his machete in her spine, just below her ribs. She screamed, but continued trying. Trapper sighed and lifted her by her pants and slung her over his shoulder. 

“EY! Fuck off!” She yelled, kicking and screaming. She bashed her fists into his back, clawing at his skin. Anything she could think of, she did. Though it was pointless, because it didn’t stop the hook in her back. “FUCK YOU!” She screamed. Trapper practically snorted and just then there was an alarm that blared out into the air. Meg didn’t recognize it, but she knew what it meant; Dwight finished the last generator. 

Trapper was gone in a blink and it took less than three minutes of her struggling against the spider for Dwight to come and take her off the hook. She hugged him the second her feet touched the ground and he shockingly returned the embrace. Though he quickly ended it as he guided her to a door. When they were finally in sight of it, she was in awe of it. It was massive, located by a huge brick wall. Between this match and her last, Dwight explained to her how he tried to climb the wall once, how he made it all the way to the top before the Entity pushed him off. He insisted to her the wall is a lost cause. Meg, now being able to walk on her own, was holding the wound on her chest as Dwight tucked the doors lever under his elbow. He pushed his weight to keep it down and as the seconds ticked by, she felt faint panic set in. 

“Why isn’t it opening?”

“It will, give it time.”

“We’re running out of time,” she urged, as if that would make it go faster. 

“It’s okay Meg, go behind that rock over there,” he gestured to a boulder with his head. “And don’t come out until the door is open.”

She wordlessly listened and crouched behind the rock. Her heart was thundering in her chest. Dwight looked so out in the open, so vulnerable. His head was practically on a swivel as he continuously looked over each shoulder. The lever had three glass shapes above it and the first one on the left side began to glow red. Meg could hear the doors groan and Meg realized the light was showing how far along the doors were. She could hardly hold still as the second light lit up. Dwight suddenly gasped, but didn’t move. He was staring at something out of Megs sight, but she didn't have to look to know who was coming. She was mentally screaming for Dwight to run, but he wouldn’t. The third light began to glow, but Meg’s heart broke when she saw Trapper rush forward and slam Dwight against the door. He grabbed him by the back of the neck and lifted him over his shoulder, tearing him away from the nearly open escape. 

“No! Please!” Dwight screamed as he tried to escape Trappers iron grasp. “Please! It’s not fair!”

Meg cursed under her breath as she stepped out from the rock. Dwight had told her to stay behind the rock, but she can’t just leave him! Her open chest wound wasn’t as bad as it was before. She knew the Entity was closing it up. She glanced between Dwight and the door. The leaver was flipped back up, but the three lights were still gleaming. Her body was begging for her to just open the door and leave, but her ears couldn’t shut out the sounds of Dwight pleading to the psycho. She clenched her eyes shut. Stay or go, altruism or survival? She spat out her own name like a curse leaving her tongue before she spun on her heel and sprinted in the direction Trapper was taking Dwight. She was tailing him, not close enough for him to notice, but enough for her to have clear sight on him. He was taking Dwight into the storehouse and her whole body went cold when she heard Dwight’s cries. 

“No! No! No! Please, please not there!” He sobbed as Trapper stomped down a series of steps. Dwight was hysterically sobbing, half heartedly slamming his fists into the murderer's shoulders. “Please! I’m so sorry, not the basement! Please!”

Meg stumbled back, horrified by the sound of Dwight’s voice. He sounded completely broken, borderline crazy as he begged for mercy. She’s never heard a man sound so scared, so frantic. When he screamed, it wasn’t like anything she had ever heard before. There was so much agony behind it, but it was even worse when the scream was clipped and cut off. Like something had cut his voice like a toddler snipping string with scissors. Everything she heard sounded like it came from the depths of hell itself, like Satan jumped out from the fiery gates and was cutting the poor man up with perverse joy. She could hardly move and when she looked up, she could see a terrible sight. The Entity was above, not just its presence, but… it. It’s body floated above. It’s shadow darkened the ground like a solar eclipse, the sky was black and red. It’s spider legs swirled above like dark clouds and it purred, this horrible, awful purr, one that made Meg stumble back and bump into a tree. 

She yelped in shock, spinning away from the tree. When she saw the charred bark she realized it wasn’t Trapper and she let out a shuddering breath. She snapped her eyes back to the nightmare inducing sky. It’s legs crept down from the heavens and sunk into the storehouse. It slipped through the roof, ceiling and walls. It melted through into the basement and that’s when Meg saw Trapper stomping up the steps. Her eyes were blown wide. She froze. She was seeing everything in slow motion. Each bounding step Trapper took and the slow rise of the Entity carrying Dwight's corpse through the building like a ghost. Tears fell from her eyes as she finally broke away from the spell. Lightning zapped at her feet and she was already at the door. She yanked the leaver and slammed it down. She refused to look behind her, she didn’t want to see Trapper coming. She could hear him, his terrible breathing. The doors hissed and light broke through the crack. The metal groaned and the doors slowly opened. Meg wasted not a single second as she slipped through the door and bolted away. There was a dark void, but hope flooded into her heart and she thoughtlessly ran through the darkness, barely noticing the feeling of Trappers machete cutting her shirt. 

She made it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew that was a lot. I really hope you guys liked it, I had a blast writing it, I think it's probably my best chapter so far. 
> 
> Can't wait to talk to you guys and please let me know the things you guys liked about this chapter! It helps me know what is good and what I can improve on! See you in the next update! 
> 
> Buh-bye!


	11. Venus Flytrap

City lights were always a beautiful sight on quiet nights. Well, quiet isn’t exactly the correct word to use to describe a city. With noisy cars howling out, the nearby train station roaring like a wounded bear and the chatter of city folk filling the air, it would be inaccurate to call it ‘quiet’. However, compared to the normal obnoxious volume of the busy, bustling city, the sounds were much more than tolerable. Despite the loud city, Claudette couldn’t help but find peace in the loud-quiet. It reminded her of Montreal, a place like none-other. Her head rested on the glass window of the public bus. Her eyes were locked onto the night sky. The clouds were grey, not quite rain clouds but could potentially become them if enough moisture filled them. However, with how cold it is, Claudette sensed a small snowstorm coming her way. The gleaming stars lit up the sky like white paint splatters on a black canvas. Claudette looking beyond the stars however. Her eyes latched onto the gorgeous full moon overhead. It felt like the beautiful orb was smiling down at her and she unconsciously smiled back. 

The music in her earbuds fell silent for a second, letting her know that she received a notification on her phone. Claudette found it hard to pull her eyes away from her old friend the moon. Her music was playing in her ears again, but it didn’t stop a faint drip of anxiety swelling up in her mind. She knew she had nothing to worry about, but that’s the tick with anxiety. It’s irrational, despite rationalizing everything to the best of your abilities. She reluctantly clicked her phone on and checked the message. When she read it, she smiled again. Her anxiety melted away as quickly as it came as she unlocked her phone. She went straight for her Science Girl blog. Someone asked her about plants, like they normally do. This time, the question was specific. The message was simple

_“Hey @ScienceGirl I need your help. I’m in high school and my teacher is making us do a report on types of plants. I was assigned a Venus Flytrap and tbh, I’m terrible at reports. I’ve done a bit of the assignment, but I’m running out of time. Could you explain how they eat? I’m kinda stuck on the whole thing.”_

Claudette smiled and shifted in her bus seat. Another reason why she considers this a quiet night is due to the lack of people in the area. Shockingly, there's few people on the bus. Everyone has their own seat, located about four or five seats away from the other. If she had to estimate, she’d say there’s only about fourteen people on the bus, that’s including her and the driver. The space was nice, so as she shifted to get more comfortable, she began to reply. 

_”Hey! That’s a great question! I’m happy to help with your school project. Firstly, before we can get into how they eat, we have to get into how they lure in their prey. It’s not too hard to digest, so bare with me hehe <3!”_ Claudette tried not to giggle at her own joke. She continued writing. _”So, if you look up pictures of Venus Flytraps you’ll see a green plant with a red or pink interior. Think of that interior as the mouth. Inside the mouth are thin hairs that are called trigger hairs. We’ll get back to those in a moment. On the ridge of the mouth, you’ll see several spikes. Those ‘spikes’ are called cilia. Now, trigger hairs are pretty cool. What they do is when a fly (or any insect really) comes into contact with the hairs, the mouth snaps shut over its prey. However, the plant will only snap its mouth shut if the prey is sufficient enough to meet its nutritional needs. Some can even capture rodents and amphibians! Fascinating isn’t it?”_

Claudette paused from her message when the bus stopped and three riders got off. She glanced back up to the night sky and noticed a heavy snowfall setting in, just as she predicted earlier in the day. She was pleased with her prediction, but disappointed in her execution. She had the feeling it was going to snow, but she forgot her big fluffy coat at school. Go figure. She shook her head and looked back to her message. She proofread it before continuing to write on. 

_”’But how do they lure them in’, you may be wondering. Well, the answer is really cool. At least to me hehe! So, to attract its prey, the Venus flytrap secretes nectar in it’s open trap, or mouth. It’s prey can smell the nectar and will often fly onto its leaves, tripping the trigger hairs. Think of a trapdoor, or Home Alone trap. Pull the wrong lever, you’re in some serious trouble. When the trigger hairs are activated, it causes cells inside the leaves to expand and in less than a second, the leaves shut. At first, the mouth doesn’t shut tight enough, so small insects can escape. However, if larger insects wiggle around in there too much, the mouth clamps down harder and the cilia makes sure to cage in potential breakouts. Not much can be done after this. The trap will become airtight and begin the digestion process.”_

A sudden bump in the road nearly made her drop her phone. She fumbled as she steadied her hands. She glanced up to the driver to make sure things were alright. Once she deemed everything okay, she looked back to her task. 

_“Since the flytrap has no nervous system or muscles, it’s still a mystery as to what causes the trapping mechanism. There are several possibilities and I can share them with you, but I encourage you to do your own research on the topic because I’m not confident enough to share my hypotheses. Anyways, the plant has digestive glands that secrete fluids with enzymes that break down the insect. The enzymes also kill harmful bacteria and remove nutrients! A+ for nature! After 5 to 13 days I believe (you may want to double check this on your own), the trap reopens and discards the insect's exoskeleton! Each trap only eats a few meals before spending several months dormant while the plant photosynthesizes (yes, the plant eats live food and photosynthesizes! The more you know <3!). After the plant is done photosynthesizing, the trap will fall off. Good news though, the plant will replace all the traps that fall off :)!”_

As Claudette typed away at her phone's keyboard, the bus continued it’s drive. She may be going overboard, loading this person up with too much information, but she couldn’t help herself. Gushing about nature is just too tempting. She decided at the end of her extensive reply, she’d give a short recap of basic points. That way, the person has two options. The first is that the commenter could read up on her reply and learn something new. The second and more disappointing option, is just to read the summed up version and move on with their day. Claudette may never know what they pick, but at least she’ll know she put in effort to assist a stranger. Once she finished proofreading the lengthy comment, she posted it with a smile on her face. 

**_”In conclusion, here are the basic points to remember-”_ **

Once the rattly bus came to a stop, Claudette got up from her seat. She tucked her phone away in her pocket and took an earbud out of an ear. As she walked off the bus, she didn’t fail to thank the bus driver for the ride and wish them happy holidays. When she stepped onto the snow covered sidewalk, she put her headphones back in her ears, drowning out the sound of snow crunching under her feet. Her apartment wasn’t too far from the bus stop, but a long enough walk to be slightly inconvenient. However, the upcoming Christmas weather made the walk worth it. The snow and ice left her feeling serene and happy. Her home was now just two blocks away, but the snow was just so hypnotic. She couldn’t help but walk past her house and let her heart guide her away. She missed her parents. Hopefully after this winter, she’ll be able to come to her true home and visit awhile. 

**_”The Venus Flytrap will lure it’s prey into it’s trap-”_ **

As Claudette walked peacefully into a local park, she noticed a woodsy trail up ahead. She wasn’t dressed for this weather, but she was used to the Canadian weather, so she knew how to tough it out. She’s been in far colder places than this. The snow covered the tops of trees and Claudette mentally named each one she saw. _’Spruce… pine’_ she thought. _‘Ooh! Sugar Maple!’_ She couldn’t wipe the grin off her face as she watched the cold snow cover the leaves. A few crows watched her from above and in her bliss, she gave them a wave. It was then she noticed a tree she’s never seen before. It was unlike any other she’s seen in Canada. Her brow raised, her interest peaked. She approached the tree and gently placed a hand on it. It looked charred, but there hasn’t been a fire in this area since… well… since forever. 

**_”Most of the time the prey doesn’t even realize it’s in danger until it's too late-”_ **

Up ahead Claudette noticed more of these peculiar trees. Her scientific interest was bubbling up and she couldn’t help but walk further unto the woods. Just moments before, she was thinking about many things. School, her blog, work. Her parents were on her mind, her father specifically. This will be the first Christmas without them near. She wondered what her parents' house would be like without her. She figured her mom would manage, but Claudette and her father had a close bond that made it hard to be separate. She wished that he won’t be sad on the magical day yet to come. Just the idea of him being glumb on Christmas day left ice in her stomach and faint tears that threatened to leave her eyes, but she toughed it out and shook the sadness away. She’ll be sure to video chat him all day. However, now that these trees caught her attention, they also seemed to steal her thoughts away. 

**_”After the prey takes the bait and triggers the trap, it will begin to close in on its prey-”_ **

She stopped walking when she walked into the center of several of these odd trees. The forest was oddly quiet and foggy now. She paused her music and tucked her headphones in her pocket. She listened to the crows above her head caw a few times. She looked down at her feet, chilled from walking in the snow. She missed the way the fog began to bubble up around her legs. Her focus was locked onto the trees and birds. Come to think of it, in this particular city, crows aren’t necessarily common. She counted the black birds above her head. _’Four… five… ten… seventeen?’_ Twenty four was the final total when she stopped counting. 

**_”Not much can stop what comes next-”_ **

An odd anxiety began creeping over her shoulders. One that left her colder than the winter air. She crossed her arms to try and retain some heat. Claudette has never feared bugs or plants. She never felt uneasy by reptiles or slimy amphibians. She was certainly never scared of birds, but as she stared up to the screeching crows, a bad feeling welled up in her stomach. She glanced back to the trees. She wanted to inspect them and learn more about them, but her gut told her it was time to go. She turned around, ready to walk back to where she came from. The crows cawed obnoxiously, aggressively flapping their wings. She tried not to run, but her sudden anxiety was begging her to. Though she refused to embarrass herself just in case someone was watching. 

**_”As soon as the prey notices that it’s in danger, it’s already too late-”_ **

The fog was growing taller and it got to the point where Claudette not only noticed it, but couldn’t see through it. Between the now heavy snowfall and the grey fog clouding her vision, she couldn’t see much more than four feet in front of her face. She threw an arm up in the air to help guide her, but it didn’t do much. The crows were squawking in a way that sounded similar to laughter. That realization didn’t do much to ease her stress. Something was wrong, really wrong. She couldn’t place what, but she knew she wasn’t alone and much like elementary school, company usually meant something bad. Her heart was starting to beat so loud it hurt her chest and she let out a gasp when her heart palpated and stole her breath away. 

**_”Once the trap is closed, the digestion process begins-”_ **

There was something closing in around her. She wanted to run, but she was too cold and it felt like someone was holding her feet down like anchors. She crossed her arms over her face to shield it from the now aggressive snow beating down on her. Her eyes were clenched tightly shut, mouth zipped in a tight line. A powerful force opened its gaping mouth and not long after that, the crows fell silent. The snowfall slowed until it gently landed on the ground. The fog washed away and there was nothing left of Claudette. Some say she ran away, that the pressure of school was just too much for such a shy girl. Some say she was kidnapped, but unfortunately, nobody will ever know what became of Claudette Morel. 

**_”And unfortunately, there’s no escape for the little bug after that.”_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you liked this chapter! Claudette is so cute lol she's a doll to write. 
> 
> Let me know what you guys thought about this chapter, and I'll see you in the next one!


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